


Webley

by labellerose



Category: Indiana Jones Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellerose/pseuds/labellerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From 1923 to 1958, Indy's gun takes a long strange journey before it comes full circle. ... in Chapter 10, Bedford 1958, Indy and Marion settle some unfinished business</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An unexpected danger

Ravenwood Dig, Jerusalem, 1923

The sun sank behind the dusty hills of Abner Ravenwood's dig, touching the horizon with molten gold. A whistle blew, and the digging crews and students downed tools with a collective sigh of relief.

The diggers sat in small groups, talking and passing water skins or cigarettes. The students and crew chiefs gathered around their dig supervisor, Dr. Harold Oxley, to recap their progress and make plans for the next day. 'The Ox' had studied with Dr. Ravenwood and was back this summer, newly -minted PhD in hand, for his first professional job. He served as Abner's chief assistant and right hand man. Oxley in turn had the assistance of his friend and boon companion, one Henry 'Indiana' Jones. This was Indiana's last dig with the University of Chicago-he was leaving in a few weeks to begin his own D. Phil. at the University of Paris.

A digger approached the group of students and bowed courteously to Oxley.

"Your pardon, Dr. Ox, but may I speak with Rashid?"

"By all means, Tariq" Ox answered courteously. One of 'Dr. Ox's' firm rules was that "a gentleman speaks to a laborer with the same courtesy he would employ to a Duke." The undergraduates were getting a little tired of hearing it.

Tariq and Rashid joined a group smoking at the edge of the dig. The men spoke in low-voiced Arabic, taking care to keep the students from hearing.

"Do we take her tonight?" a stocky digger named Mahmoud asked.

Rashid nodded. "Yes. Ravenwood-pasha will not be back for two days. Dr. Ox may be in charge but he is a learned man, not a fighting man."

One of his companion objected. "But Mr. Indy is a fighting man."

"That's why it should be tonight," explained their leader. "Mr. Indy is going to the city tomorrow-Abdul is on his crew and he heard him talking."

Mahmoud looked thoughtful. "Mr. Indy may even be leaving tonight, in search of…such entertainment as young men enjoy."

"Then let us hope he doesn't end up at the same place we are taking the girl."

"Not likely," Tariq put in. He turned his head and spat. "Mr. Indy, if you please, says he 'doesn't care for the women in these parts'."

"Is that so?" asked another digger.

"Oh yes." Tariq answered. " I heard that before Ravenwood-pasha came, the young men went into the city. They were drinking and gambling, and Mr. Indy was asked why he didn't ...go upstairs.. with a girl. He was somewhat the worse for liquor, and he told the others some story about bedding a famous courtesan and how she spoiled him for ordinary women."

"Ah, Mr. Indy and his stories." Rashid smirked. "That one may or may not be true, but if he doesn't know where we're taking the girl... so much the better."

Rashid's gaze flicked back to Oxley and the students, then returned to his men. "So. Mahomoud-"he jerked his head- "wait till Mr. Indy isn't looking, then slip away to move the car. The rest of you-back to camp, in ones and twos, quietly. We wait for the girl by the wash tent as planned."

"And in a few days" he smiled wolfishly "we will be richer men- and far away from here..."

She was sick of the merciless heat. She was tired of the dust that seemed to get everywhere. And ye gods, ye gods, she was tired of cataloging artifacts. Marion Ravenwood sighed, and lifted her sweat-damp braid off the back of her neck. Other girls, she mused, spent their summers traveling to exotic places where there was actually some fun to be had, or being indulged by loving grandparents. Well, compared to Chicago, this corner of hell-and gone was exotic, she'd give it that. But spending hours at a worktable in a hot tent was hardly her idea of a swell time. And indulged? Hah! That was rich. Everyone here treated her like a kid, if they didn't want anything, or like a drudge if they did. And how had she gotten stuck with this crummy job, exactly? Oh yeah, something about a lopsided grin and a pair of hazel eyes belonging to her father's prize student….

"Awww, c'mon, Marion" Indiana coaxed, "help a fella out, wont you? You're so much better at cataloging than I am, and you're the only person here besides me who can read my handwriting. Whaddaya say?"

"Ish kabibble is what I say," Marion retorted. "Why should I give myself a headache deciphering those hieroglyphics you put in your field notebook, Indy? No, on second thought I think you write cuneiform-that mess isn't pretty enough to be hieroglyphics."

"Well," said Indy, ruthlessly upping the ante, "maybe you should care because tomorrow's my day off. If I'm not busy getting this lot ready to ship back to Chicago, I'll actually have time to drive to the city. And if I happen to owe someone a favor, I might be persuaded to let her tag along…."

Marion shook her head regretfully. "Nice try, Jones, but I'll just get in trouble for leaving camp."

"Oh no, you won't. Abe knows you're safe with me. We'll just tell him that I took you to oh, the Temple Mount or the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Somewhere, y'know, educational. "

"Educational?" Marion laughed, and smiled at him the way that was beginning to get rather… interesting… reactions from boys back home. She tossed her head.

"You can tell Dad anything you like-but if I'm giving up my free time for you, mister, you'd better at least be taking me to lunch."

Indy paused, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His eyes lingered on her, as a slow, lazy grin spread on his face. "You know," he said at last, "I think I will. If you've got a dress, little lady, we've got a deal." He pushed his hat back and fired his parting shot. "And if you clean up nice enough, I'll even take you someplace with tablecloths."

Indy tipped his fedora in salute and ducked out of the tent,-probably off to shoot the bull by the campfire while someone passed a bottle around. She was pretty Abner was still in Jaffa-escorting that group from the Oriental Institute, wasn't he? Anyway, camp discipline did get a little lax whenever he was away. No skin off her nose, though, Marion figured. Abner had left 'the Ox' in charge and if he didn't mind the boys drinking she wasn't going to either. Besides, she had other fish to fry.

Marion sighed again and picked up her pencil. She wrote a number on a tag and attached it to a small oil lamp made of clay. She checked the number against a ledger, and double checked the ledger against the haphazard scrawl in Indy's notebook. She wrapped the lamp carefully, first in cotton wool, then in a square of oilcloth, and nestled it into a straw filled crate. Then she blew her fringe off her forehead and turned back to the table. There were more artifacts to come. Lots more.

Finished at last, Marion strode confidently toward the wash tent with her towel and clean clothes under her arm. It wasn't really a proper facility; just a makeshift shower some of the students had rigged at the outskirts of camp. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to use it. But really, she was Ravenwood-pasha's daughter and she should be allowed a few little privileges in return for all her hard work. It wasn't like anyone was paying her, or giving her a scholarship, after all. Besides, she always took her shower before the crews were back so she could wash up in privacy, and she was careful to leave everything the way she found it. Nobody probably even knew she'd been there. And today a shower was a necessity –there was no way she could look good enough for a day in the city on what she could do with just a pitcher and basin in her tent.

A day in the city! It shimmered in her mind like an oasis from the drudgery of her camp life. She could almost feel the cool, fan-stirred air of a fashionable restaurant and hear the muted clink of silver and china. There would be crisp white tablecloths, starched napkins, and perhaps an impeccably dressed waiter bearing a glass of iced lemonade. Not to mention, she thought smugly, a tall, handsome escort, who cleaned up pretty nice himself.

Come to think of it, Indy would probably let her order wine if she could be nonchalant about it. He might not even notice-Marion smiled wickedly to herself- if she got him to telling one of his stories first. And after lunch, Indy would offer her his arm, like she really was grown up, and they could stroll through the district around Government House. She was willing to bet they could find a bookseller's, and maybe a confectioner's, too…

Marion came back to earth abruptly when she saw the knot of diggers-back early, that was odd- who were gathered around a prostrate man. She didn't understand every word they said, but she heard enough to worry her. She stepped closer, concerned.

"Miss Marion!" one of the men she recognized called in heavily accented English.

"Tariq? Nidal?" she answered in her halting Arabic, "What's wrong? Is he hurt? Do you want me to go for help?" She leaned in to take a look at the injured man -and gasped as many hands grasped her and a greasy rag was clamped firmly over her nose and mouth. The world spun, tilted and blinked out.

A Model T, hidden behind the wash tent sputtered to life and slid out, Marion's unconscious body was bundled into the back seat.

A stocky young Arab digger, obviously on his way to wash up, changed course and hurried to approach them.

"What's happened? What is wrong with Miss Marion?" he called.

"She's fallen ill." Rashid answered shortly. "We are taking her to her father." The door slammed, and the car sped off with a grind of gears and a belch of black smoke

The young digger stared after them with a thoughtful frown. Something..wasn't right about this.

Ravenwood-pasha wasn't back, true. But if the girl were truly ill, why weren't they taking her to Dr. Ox-or to Fatima, the cook, well-known for her knowledge of healing and midwifery?

Sallah Mohammed Faisel el-Kahir remembered the rumors he'd heard about Rashid and his friends. He tasted sour bile at he back of his throat as he realized what he'd seen. Then he set off at a dead run, headed for the large tent at the center of camp.

"Dr. Ox! Mr. Indy!"


	2. Reaction

Author's note: Indy's lifelong friendship with T.E Lawrence was documented in several episodes of The _Young_ _Indiana_ _Jones_ _Chronicles_. Also, the views on sexuality, female virginity, and gender roles expressed by some characters in this chapter are historically accurate for their time. However, they are _not_ _necessarily_ _those_ _of_ _the_ _author_. Please be aware.

* * *

Jerusalem 1923

At the other side of camp, Harold Oxley stood by another one of the expedition's vehicles, also a Model T that had seen better days. Clipboard in hand, he started to sign out three students who were taking the night off.

"You could pass for General Allenby, Ox" remarked Indiana Jones. Indy was leaning on a nearby tent pole, Lucky Strike in hand, blowing smoke rings. "All you need is a swagger stick."

Oxley shot his friend a long-suffering look and returned to his duties.

"All right, you lot," Ox said briskly, "we have Brothers, Evans, and Roberts out tonight; Jones out tomorrow. Now," he pinned the students with a gimlet eye, " _Gentlemen._ _"_

He cleared his throat and went on. "We are all adults here and I for one hardly believe that you're motoring down to the vicarage for tea and biscuits. I DO expect that you will one, refrain from brawling with the locals, two, confine any, er, 'romantic overtures' to women of a 'certain class', and three, return your vehicle in the condition in which it left camp. Understood?"

" _Yes_ , Ox," the three young men chorused good-naturedly

"And you sheiks better roll this Packard in before daylight" Indiana added, "because I'm gonna need it first thing."

"Not coming tonight, Indy?" asked David Brothers "You're missing out on a good time."

"Watching you lose money, Dave? Think I'll pass. Besides, Ox needs a full complement on patrol"–Indy threw a glance over his shoulder-"things being how they are. So I'll stand my watch, catch some shut-eye, and then I'm taking Freckle Face to Jerusalem for the day."

Charlie Evans looked up from loading the boot with water and extra petrol. "Little Marion's not much of a date," he pointed out

Indy grinned and tossed his spent cigarette to one side. "Charlie, _dry_ _up._ Who's headed for Paris, pal? The home of _vive_ _l_ _'_ _amour?_ Might date a _mademoiselle_ or two once I'm there. But in the meantime, the kid deserves a day off and Ox will be too busy to keep an eye on her with me and her dad both gone."

Ox clapped Indy lightly on the shoulder. "And I appreciate that, Henry. I shan't be able to look after her properly-and I regret to say that the atmosphere in camp this year is less than suitable for an unprotected young girl."

"Yeah, this sure ain't last years dig, fellas." Steve Roberts unbent from his usual reserve to join the conversation. "Don't get me wrong, Ox, you're doing a bang-up job, but…"

"There's something damn hinky going on." Charlie finished for him. "Can't put my finger on what…"

"But bet your ass Rashid's mixed up in it somehow," said Dave.

"It's like-" Steve added thoughtfully "-like we're all looking out over the barbed wire into No Man's Land, knowing Jerry's up to something and waiting for the barrage to start."

"That," replied Indy, "is exactly what it's been like, and I think…

Before Indy could say anything more, he was interrupted by the sound of running feet and voices calling his name.

Indy looked in the direction of the sound and nodded toward his friends. " _Over_ _the_ _top,_ _boys_ ," he said grimly. "Here comes trouble."

Sallah, trailed by Pete McGregor, careened around a tent corner and skidded to a halt in front of Indy and Ox, eyes wide and chest heaving.

Sallah!" Indy called sharply What's happened? What's wrong?" Sallah struggled for breath as the urgency of his mission warred with the aftermath of his body's exertions. Indy put his hands on the young digger's shoulders to steady him as he told his story.

"Then, Dr Ox, they drove away, too fast for me to follow, so I came to you," Sallah finished. "They said they were taking her to Ravenwood-pasha. Is there a chance..."

Indy shook his head. "No" he said, "wherever they're taking her, it ain't to her Daddy."

Oxley's face paled under his desert tan. "Good God..." he began.

Indy felt for his whip and gun. Then he took a deep breath and realized he'd better show proper respect for the chain of command.

"Ox. Can I take point on this? I have an idea that may work."

Their training from the Great War took over and Ox nodded, relief in his eyes. "As the senior Staff officer present" he said formally, "I yield the floor to the senior Line commander. Carry on, _Mon_ _Capitain;_ we are at your disposal." The other students muttered agreement.

Indy put one hand on the Model T's bonnet and let Captain Henri Defense, his wartime persona, take control. He looked around the little group and began issuing a string of crisp orders.

"Out of the car, fellas, leave is cancelled. First thing, Ox, go into Abe's tent and take Charlie with you. Break out the rifles."

"Steve and Dave-split up and start passing the word for all the guys to meet up with Ox and Charlie at the mess tent, **PDQ** Once you're there, brief them fast, pass out the rifles, and send the ones who can shoot 'em to meet Pete and me. We'll need a rifle for Pete, here, I'll keep my Webley."

"Then we'll spread out around camp and establish a perimeter. Once we're set you'll hear three shots. That's your signal to take Frank, Jack and anyone else with a sidearm, and round up the crew chiefs. Try not to treat them like they're under arrest-but- _get 'em into the mess._ I'll have Sallah bring you something that may help you sort them out. After the crews chiefs are vetted, they can go tent to tent with armed backup and make sure everyone is accounted for. Try to hit any friends of Rashid's _last._

Ox, Steve and Dave set off at a brisk dog trot. Pete spoke hesitantly. "Indy, I see you have a plan, but shouldn't we be trying to find Marion?"

Indy gestured toward the horizon. "Pete. _We_ _are_ _trying_ _to_ _find_ _her. But_ Rashid, damn his eyes, has a head start, there's a lot of ground to cover out there, and it's getting dark. Right now, Marion's a needle in a haystack. But somebody here's gotta know something, so we're gonna smoke him out. The whoreson who tries to sneak off when he figures the jig's up-there's the man we talk to."

Pete nodded in comprehension. "Just like setting dogs to flush out game back home."

"You got it, pal. Now you wait here for the rest of the guys-I'm gonna get something for Ox."

Indy, Sallah in tow, hurried to his tent. He unlocked the top drawer of his camp chest and grabbed a brown leather diary with an Ibis inked on the cover. He flipped through the pages, took out a yellowing envelope, and handed it to Sallah. "Give this to Dr. Ox, then get a rifle for Mr. Pete and meet us by the car."

When Ox opened the envelope, he found a black and white photograph. It showed a boy in knickerbockers and a pith helmet standing in front of a bicycle. His nose was snubbed and his features rounded with childhood, but the face still unmistakably belonged to Henry Jones, Jr. Beside him was a man dressed in European clothing, with the addition of an Arab _Keffiyeh_ on his head. Although his face was younger than his published photographs his features, too, were unmistakable-and known throughout the Middle East. For the man standing next to young Indy was Thomas Edward 'T.E. 'Lawrence-archaeologist, adventurer, scholar, and hero. He was called _El-Aurens_ here and _Lawrence_ _of_ _Arabia_ everywhere else. On the back was written _Ned_ _and_ _me,_ _1908_.

" _So at least one of your tales has some basis in fact, my friend,_ Ox thought _. This should prove fortuitous indeed._

Once in the mess tent, Ox seated himself at the head of a long table, in Dr. Ravenwood's usual place "Must establish authority, don't you know" he murmured to Charlie and Dave, who flanked him.

"Keep your weapons visible, but not drawn, please." Ox said to them. "We must be business-like but not threatening. If we treat these men with respect we may get their help. And without their help, that girl is lost."

Ox turned as Fatima and two of her kitchen helpers entered with fresh coffee and a platter of dates.

"Ahh, Madam Fatima, thank you."

Fatima's face was troubled, and her eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed under her headscarf.

"Oh, Dr. Ox" she said softly, "This is an evil, evil day. Whatever will we tell Ravenwood-pasha?"

Ox rose, automatically courteous, took the tray from her, and placed it on the table.

"We hope to tell Ravenwood-pasha that his child is restored to him alive and well," he replied.

" _Insha'Allah_ " Fatima whispered as she began to set the table. " _Insha'Allah_."

By ones and twos the crew chiefs and students filed into tent and seated themselves around the table.

After Fatima served coffee, Ox leaned forward and clasped his hands, silently praying that his Arabic was up to the task before him.

"My friends," he began., "I have called you here because I have just received terrible news. The daughter of Ravenwood-pasha has been stolen, for what purpose I fear to guess, by wicked men we have harbored amongst us. I have gathered you together to ask for your help."

"This touches my honor, as Ravenwood-pasha left me in charge here with his daughter in my care. It touches Mr. Indy's honor, for Ravenwood-pasha has promised him Miss Marion's hand in marriage."

A murmur, not altogether surprised, filled the tent.

"Mr. Indy is out searching" Oxley said, "and I am here with you. We act to restore our honor, the honor of our families, and the honor of Ravenwood-pasha and his family."

"But Mr. Indy says he has no family," one of the crew chiefs objected.

"I know that Mr. Indy's mother and sister are dead", Ox answered carefully. "But he is not without friends". Ox took out the photograph and laid it on the table. "Look at this picture. The boy is Mr. Indy. The man, perhaps is also known to you."

The photograph was passed around the table. There was an awed murmur of " _El-Aurens_ " from the men who recognized Lawrence's face.

"El-Aurens was the elder brother of Mr. Indy's youth, and still stands his friend today" said Ox. L"ook at that picture, my friends. Does any one of you truly wish to protect men who would dishonor the daughter of Ravenwood- pasha? Who would despoil the promised bride of El-Aurens' friend?"

"The girl is promised to Mr. Indy?" asked one of the men

"Of course," Ox answered glibly "How could she not be? It is known to all that Ravenwood-pasha has no son living, only a lovely daughter. Naturally he would promise that daughter to the man who follows in his footsteps, the man he loves as a son."

From the nods and thoughtful looks he saw, Ox judged that he was making headway.

"Ravenwood-pasha has powerful friends," Ox continued. "We have seen that Mr. Indy does, as well. It is my duty to  send word to the British governor. When he hears of this he will likely send soldiers to look for the girl. Those soldiers will take no orders from me, and I cannot make promises about what they will or will not do. But together my friends, we can save an innocent child and stop this before it starts."

The oldest of the crew chiefs a grizzled man called Farouk, put his calloused hand on the table and stood.  
"Enough," he said. "Ravenwood- pasha is a hard man, true. But he is a fair man who deserves no ill- treatment at our hands. As for the girl- our ways are not as yours, Dr. Ox, but The Holy Qur'an enjoins us against immorality, just as your Bible does you. I want no part in this, and I declare that no man here is dishonored if he tells you what he knows". He cast a meaningful gaze around the table.

Ox rose and bowed to Farouk with a grave formality that could have graced the Court of St. James. "Perhaps our ways are not the same, but all here are People of the Book" he said. I offer you my gratitude, and that of Ravenwood-pasha, for your help in finding the men who have committed this evil deed."

Outside camp, Indy and Sallah crouched down on a rise overlooking the wash tent. From a distance the camp seethed like a stirred ant hill. Lamps bobbed in the dusk as the crew chiefs and their patrols searched from tent to tent. The brightly lit mess, Ox's temporary headquarters, shone like an ocean liner floating on a dark sea.

Beside Indy, Sallah froze, then pointed. "Indy" he said under his breath-" _there_ _"_

A shadow was slipping toward the outskirts of camp. It seemed to head toward the latrine, but at the last moment it slipped into the dark gap between crew quarters and the wash tent. In a few heartbeats, a man stepped away from the circle of tents and paused for breath. He looked behind him for pursuit, and then toward the sky to take his bearings. With a shrug, he shouldered a small bundle and headed north, toward the road that led to Jerusalem.

Indy rose in one fluid motion and snapped out his whip hand. The braided leather arced out with a satisfying crack, to curl around the .fugitive's torso. Indy jerked the handle, and the man spun and fell, hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

The two sentries pounced, and relieved the man of his belt knife. "Lie still," Indy commanded, "or I'll shoot you like the dog you are. Sallah, give me a hand."

Together, they turned their captive on his back. A familiar face, dirt-streaked and white eyed, looked up at them.

"Out for a stroll. Abdul?" Indy growled. "How charming. But there's been a change of plan, my friend. You, me, and Dr. Ox are gonna have a little talk."

An hour later, a council of war was being held in the mess tent. Abdul was tied to a pole, being guarded by two other diggers. Indy unleashed a final string of Arabic at him and turned back to the gathered students.

"What did you say Indy?" Pete asked.

"I reminded Buddy Boy that we have a deal. If he leads us to Marion and she's alive, I let him go. If he leads us on a wild goose chase, we turn him over to the Brits and he can park his sorry ass in a nice comfy cell until the governor deals with him."

Pete shook his head "Look," he objected, "you fellas just can't take the law into your own hands like this. Someone needs to go to Jerusalem, find Abner, notify the authorities…"

Ox spoke from the table where he sat writing. "And I am in fact arranging all of that. But time is of the essence if we want to see Marion alive and –in a condition that will assure her future- We _must_ act without delay."

"Can't we just go to the Brits, sit tight, and wait for a ransom note? _Before_ we start playing like we're cowboys and Indy's Pancho Villa?" Pete demanded.

Indy looked up from filling his bandolier and rolled his eyes.  
"Hey, fellas, will someone take Mrs. McGregor's baby boy outside and give him The Talk? We can't waste time on this."

Steve, who was also checking his ammunition, stuck his oar in. "That's a little harsh, Jones. Don't forget this is Pete's first big dig and he doesn't have much Arabic yet."

Indy pinched his fingers and over his nose and shook his head. "Sorry, Pete-you probably couldn't follow everything. They don't want a ransom, pal. They, ah, want _something_ _Marion_ _has._ "

"What?" said Pete. Some of the young men rolled their eyes. "Pete, I know your Daddy's a preacher," Dave began, "but…"

Oxley stood, and put a hand on Pete's shoulder. "I believe what Indiana is alluding to," he said, is a certain piece of folklore?"

He glanced over for confirmation, and Indy nodded.

Pete still looked confused.

Since there was nothing for it, Ox cleared his throat and went on. "Peter, in some quarters hereabouts there's a folk belief that _ah,_ _'_ _intimate_ _congress_ _'_ with a virgin girl can restore an older man's fading, er, _'_ _prowess_ _'_ _._ Ethnographically speaking, that same belief is held in certain parts of the United States, I might add. In any case, there are men who are willing to will pay handsomely for the privilege. Abdul has given us reason to believe that Marion, God help us, has been taken to be sold for such a purpose."

Pete shook his head. "Little Marion? She's just a kid!"

"Not here, she's not" said Charlie decisively.

"He's right, Pete," Jack put in "By the custom of the country, here, Marion's about husband-high. Old enough to be promised, certainly."

"Yeah "Indy added grimly. He remembered a grievance, and glared at his friend.

"Did you **have** to say what you did, Ox?"

"Every man-jack of them believed me without question," Ox retorted. "Which perhaps reflects a certain lack of ...circumspection... on your part, Henry."

"Circumspection be damned" Indy replied. "You all can worry about that when you get back to Chicago."

"But let's suppose", Indy continued," that while we're all being _circumspect_ one of the customers decides to, um, 'inspect the merchandise' a little. Maybe he wants to see if he likes the goods before he cuts a deal-how do you think Marion's gonna handle that? Remember, she's from a country where women have the goddamn _vote_."

"Dear God", said Pete. "Whether or not she understood that her virtue was at stake, she'd fight."

"Probably", Indy answered. "So the bastards may decide that if she's not meek and submissive, they can't sell her after all. And if she's gotten a look at them, or figured out who they are, they can't let her go. So what's to stop 'em from make the best of a bad job, and dumping her body in an alley somewhere? After they've all had a little 'fun' with her, that is."

The students looked sick.

"Abner's little girl," said Dave softly, "We can't let that happen."

"Damn straight we can't" Indy agreed," and tonight's our best chance to recover her unharmed. Before they move her, while they still think there's money to be had. But make no mistake-by the time the Brits get word, it'll be too late. Give it 24 hours, and Lawrence and Allenby put together couldn't get her back. Abe's not here, so it's up to us, fellas."

Indy looked around. "Everybody in?"


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Rescue Mission

hill near Deir Yassan, Palestine, 1923

A small convoy of three Ford Model Ts bumped and rattled over a back road, under a blaze of stars and the faint glow of a fingernail moon. Just before they reached a rise, the lead car pulled over. The driver waved his hat to signal for a halt and got out.

Once everyone was stopped, Indiana Jones gathered his improvised troop around him and cleared his throat.

"All right fellas, Buddy Boy says our Short Stuff should be in the tavern down there. First thing is to reconnoiter. So- Sallah, you walk down to the village, real casual-like. See if you can spot any guards around the tavern and get a general idea of the layout. Meanwhile, everybody else take some dirt and darken your faces down to the collarbone, and your arms up past your shirtsleeves."

"Why?" Pete wanted to know.

"So we don't shine in the moonlight, paleface," Jack grunted as he rubbed his hands on a tire. "Didn't you ever play Cowboys and Indians when you were a kid?"

"Of course I didn't," Pete replied wearily, "I'm a preacher's kid, remember?"

When Sallah came back, he smiled at the ragtag group in spite the seriousness of their mission. "You all look like ruffians," he said, chuckling. "Even Mr. Peter."

"That's right" said Indy." Straight off the streets of Chicago and Al Capone's got nothin' on us. Or at least we hope they'll think so. What's the lay of the land?"

Dave held a lantern while Sallah drew lines on the ground behind the first car. "The building is around a courtyard; a taproom in front, living quarters in back. There is a second story above the taproom."

"Bet your ass that's where she is..." said Steve.

"Likely," Indy nodded. "Kitchen? Midden?"

"The kitchen is past the main building, the midden is behind it," Sallah replied. "And no lookout I could see. Now, perhaps the man has gone inside for food, or over to to the outhouse..."

Indy stroked his chin thoughtfully "Maybe, but I dunno. Rashid's an ugly customer, but stupid he ain't. They might think they got away clean, but if Abdul's unaccounted-for someone could be watching for him."

"So," said Indy with decision, "Here's what we do. When we pull up to the tavern, turn the cars so they're parallel to the door and we can take cover behind 'em. Then we get out with Abdul front and center. We'll try to make a trade for him but- they may not bite. No honor among thieves, and Marion's worth more to them than he is. Before we get there- Jack and Dave, soak some rags in petrol. Sneak behind the kitchen while we're palavering. If you hear one shot, they've handed Marion over, head for the cars. Two shots-no deal, so torch the midden and bust in the back. Search the downstairs and then fan to the outbuildings. Charlie and Pete, stick with me. We'll go in through the front and search the upstairs. Make as much racket as you can- we want to fool 'em into thinking there's more of us than there are."

"Whoever finds her, fire three shots, or yell 'Yanks' or 'Chicago'-something only one of us would say. At the signal, everybody fall back to the cars and let's get the hell outta there. We regroup at the wadi halfway to camp. Got it?"

The group of young men nodded, and Indy continued "Sallah, stay with Steve. Steve you're Abdul's keeper, you know what to do?"

"Oui, mon Capitaine," Steve replied. "Once he leads us in I keep his hands tied and a gun on him until I see one of you boys put little Marion in a car. Then and only then I let him go and fall back myself."

"Yeah, now if he leads us wrong, or if he's been stalling for time so she's gone when we get there..." Indy began.

Charlie slapped his hands together "I vote for a hot date with the Garden of Allah!"

"Yeah, I wish" Indy growled. "But we're the good guys. If she's not there we haul the whoreson straight to Jerusalem and turn him over to the Brits. He can take his chances with them."

"Indy, there's one more thing-"Steve added, with a sidelong look at Pete.

Indy nodded and Steve went on. "Look fellas, we don't know for sure, but in this kind of a place you may see some things that your Dad didn't exactly tell you about stateside..." Pete flushed, bracing for more razzing about his sheltered life.

Indy saw it and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "I know I sure did, my first time in these parts. Your Dad may be a preacher, brother, but mine was a college professor!"

There were a few raised eyebrows-Jones was notoriously reticent about his family- but Pete grinned in relief.

"Point is"-Steve continued, "We have a mission, so don't let anything you hear or see make you forget Abner's-our-little girl. No matter what, just keep going."

"That's the style," Indy finished. He held out a fist-"Enough jawboning- let's go get her."

The stacked their hands like a baseball team ready to take the field, then scattered to the cars.

Being kidnapped in the desert, Marion thought morosely, wasn't anything like what happened in that copy of The Sheik she'd borrowed from Charmaine Givens and hidden under her mattress back home. Instead of a luxurious tent, she was shut up in a stuffy upstairs room with no furnishing beyond a chipped iron bedstead, a rough blanket, and a chamber pot. And instead of an amorous, dangerously handsome hero, there were two veiled women who had dressed her in a sheer shift, and combed out her braided hair.

They'd seemed surprised to find her clean and freshly groomed. She'd mustered every bit of Arabic she knew to in a desperate effort to talk with them. But her attempts to say that she was an American, that people were looking for her, and her father would pay well for her safe return were met with knowing-not altogether pleasant- smiles and answers she didn't quite understand.

She was too dazed to struggle much when they tied her ankle to the bed frame with a thick rope, and left her with a clay jug of water and some flat bread. She drank a little water, and twisted around until she pulled the blanket over her bare arms. Then she curled up on the lumpy straw tick, and tried to figure a way to get herself out of this mess. But she was still queasy from the blow to her head and the chloroform she'd breathed. Her thoughts circled like hawks on the desert wind, without ever landing at a destination. At last, Marion fell into an uneasy doze.

She woke to the tang of smoke, and the lurid glow of flames. Around her, the building was erupting into pandemonium. Downstairs, doors slammed, windows rattled, and dishes crashed on the floor. Outside her room, feet thudded, bodies slammed into the wall, and voices shouted. But some of those voices had American accents, and if they were cursing it was in blessed, blessed English. Oh, God, someone had come for her.

She jumped up and shoved at the rickety bed frame, rocking it against the wall to make as much noise as she could. Her heart lurched when a familiar voice called "Marion! Are you in there, Marion?"

"Yes!" she shrieked, and pounded on the wall for emphasis. A heavy body crashed into the door-once, twice. The wood cracked and buckled, but it stayed shut.

"I've gotta shoot the lock out-" Indy shouted through the door "-hit the wall twice if you can stand clear." She did, and shrank back on the bed, flattening herself against the wall.

There was a deafening report as the rusty lock shattered. A few sharp kicks, and the door fell open.

Indy, her Indy, gun drawn and face blackened under his familiar fedora, paused briefly in the splintered frame.

Then he crossed the room in two long strides and knelt in front of her, hand outstretched.

"It's all right now, baby," he said softly. "Me and the guys are gonna take you home."

He sawed at the rope with his pocketknife, until it fell away. "Can you walk?"

"I-I think so"

"That's my girl." His smiled flashed in his blackened face "C'mon."

But when Marion tried to stand she staggered, lost her balance, and reeled into his hastily out-thrust arm.

"Sonofabitch" Indy muttered under his breath, but he gentled his voice when he spoke to her.

"Well if you can't walk, honey, Indy will take you piggyback. Remember how I used to? Put your arms around my neck and hang on."

He hoisted her up and they started into the hall.  
"Damn," he muttered, "I should've thought of this. Cover your ears, I've gotta give the signal." Indy leaned into the narrow staircase, and fired three shots into the air.

Then he bolted down the stairs, through the courtyard and bore down on the cars at a dead run. His troop of raiders flocked in from the midden and the outbuildings, converging at their signal. A whoop went up as the others saw what he carried. "Yaaaanks!"

The fire from the midden was spreading, and most of the tavern's population was now busy fighting it. But a few dropped their buckets and peeled off to chase the tall American making off with their prize. Indy turned once and fired behind him. Over the flames' crackle he yelled "Guys! Cover me!" before he skidded to a stop behind the first Model T.

With a grunt of effort, Indy pried Marion's arms off his neck, set her down, and pushed her toward Charlie "Get her outta here, pal! Head for the rendezvous!"

Charlie grabbed Marion's hand and dragged her into the last car. He cranked it, let out the choke and floored the accelerator. They took off with a belch of smoke and a grind of hastily shifted gears.

"Everyone else- backs to the cars! Pete! Start 'er up! Covering fire till we're all in!" Indy threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure Marion was safe. Then he stood beside Steve, firing his Webley to keep the foe at bay until his men were all accounted for

After Jack and Dave pelted around a corner and ran to the middle car, Indy gave gave his final order.

"Alright Steve! Indy shouted, "Let the bastard go! Now get in and gun it!"

Steve shoved Abdul into the smoky courtyard and dove for the driver's seat. Sallah scrambled into the front. Indy vaulted over the boot and intothe back seat, pistol at the ready to cover his party's retreat. With a squeal of tires and a final volley of gunfire, both cars slewed into a turn and sped out of the village.

As they climbed back up the rise, Pete brandished his rifle in triumph.

"You boys may be a passel of damn Yankees, but this deserves a Rebel Yell!" he hollered. "After me!"

"Yyeeee-haaa!" echoed over the dry hills.

The wadi was an 'oasis' by courtesy. It consisted of a few stunted palm trees and some scrubby vegetation surrounding a pool of sandy water- that would shrink steadily as the hot season progressed. Most of Abner's students knew it as a place to cool down an overheating car. Others noted the distance from camp, and the rock formation that blocked the view from the trail. They took advantage of the privacy this afforded for high stakes card games, or a tryst they didn't want their buddies finding out about.

When Pete and Dave arrived, the first Model T was parked behind the rocks, in the shadow of a palm. Charlie was standing a few feet away, rifle in hand and a flummoxed expression on his face.

"Guys! Where's Indy?" he asked.

"Bringing up the rear with Steve" Dave answered. "Where's our girl?"

Charlie jerked his thumb toward the car. Marion, white faced and shivering was huddled in the back seat.

Pete scowled and his lips compressed as he noticed the filmy shift that was clearly designed to rivet a man's attention- and the way his friends' eyes slid over to shapely legs, bare shoulders, and more cleavage than a girl that age had any business showing. So, Ox was right...

"Charlie, what the hell?" said the preacher's son who never cursed. "Get that kid a blanket-she must be freezing."

"Nothin' in the boot, pal. And she wont let me within six feet of her."

"I'll fix that." Steve was pulling up with Indy and Sallah, and Pete waved them down.

"Hey, Indy " he said with a new, firm note in his voice. "Go see to the kid. She needs you."

Indy loped over to Charlie and grasped his hand. "Thanks buddy-for everything. How is she?"

"Not good"

"Leave her to me, then. You go get a blanket from Dave, and see if one of those rubes has a flask, OK?"

"Hey, Short Stuff" he said as he opened the door.

She turned a wide-eyed, unseeing stare at him and didn't answer.

She looks like a trooper with shell shock Indy thought, dismayed. God only knows what happened before we got there...

He sat down beside her and held out a hand. "Did they hurt my baby?" Indy asked, too quietly for the others to hear.

Marion choked something unintelligible and before Indy knew what hit him, she'd come off the seat and flung herself toward him.

Automatically, his arms closed around the kid to give her a reassuring hug.

He jerked back, embarrassed, as he realized that the lithe, curving-barely-covered- softness pressed against him didn't have much in common with the freckle faced kid he thought he knew. Of course. The bastards wanted her because she's growing up. Indy just wished that his friends weren't noticing. Or that he wasn't.

So he managed to wrestle his jacket off and wrap it around the scantily clad girl before Charlie, Steve and Pete arrived with a blanket to tuck around those-gorgeous-legs and a silver hip flask.

"This ain't a Champagne Cocktail," Steve warned as he handed it over.

Indy nodded "I know. But it's what we've got for shock."

He unscrewed the flask and tipped up Marion's chin. "Take a drink, baby, it'll help."

She choked and sputtered as the raw liquor burned its way down her throat.

"Better?

Marion nodded but she didn't let go of his shirt.

"I want my Dad" she said into his chest, and began to cry.

"Of course you do, honey. Let's get you home" Indy murmured.

He raised his head and called. "Let's go fellas. Steve up front, Pete in back and I'll stick with Short Stuff and Charlie in the middle."

Charlie raised a quizzical eyebrow. "We'd have to pry her off him", Steve said impatiently.

"Yeah, Pete agreed. "And if we're being followed that would take too much time." His buddies looked at him with dawning respect.

They formed up quickly, started the cars and headed out for camp.

Indy was right, Marion thought fuzzily as they jolted down the road. Hooch does take the edge off. She was tucked up on Indy's lap under his jacket and the blanket. One arm held her close to him. She clutched a double handful of his shirt and burrowed in deeper. He smelt of leather and smoke, gunpowder and sweat. She inhaled him like oxygen, and gradually her trembling ceased. She rested her head on his chest and felt his heartbeat under her cheek, steady and strong. This, this, was the only safe place in the world. Here with her Indy.


	4. Aftershocks

Outside Marion's tent, Indy sat on a camp chair looking at the stars. Weariness seeped through his bones, and it was gonna be a damn long day with his crew tomorrow. If Abner even got back by sunrise. But judging by the looks that he'd seen Abe exchanging with that pretty little widow from the Oriental Instititute..Indy wasn't putting any money on it. And Abe's not gonna be happy when he hears what's been going on... Maybe I'll let Ox do the explaining…Then he heard a faint sound. The noise started as a soft whimper, became gulps and, finally, muffled gasps. He rose stealthily, drew the Webley and set out to investigate.

It took him a walk around the tent before he could identify what he'd heard .

They were frightened, heartbroken sobs that someone was bravely trying to stifle.

Indy had a sudden, vivid, memory of a 13-year-old boy on the day he'd buried his mother. He'd sat on his closet floor with his face hidden in his dog's thick fur and his fist stuffed into his mouth- so that his father wouldn't hear him cry. "Be a little man, Junior"…No. Not this time.

So he ducked into the tent and scooped her up, blankets and all. C'mere, honey- If you've got more crying to do, your Indy has two arms and a nice warm shoulder... He carried her to the chair by the tent flap, and sat down still holding her.

It's OK, baby, Indy's got you, don't be afraid, they can't hurt you anymore, shhhh…shhhh.

He rocked her in his arms and patted her back awkwardly until the tears stopped and she looked up at him.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I thought I heard something."

"Aaah, probably the wind, or maybe one of the guys walking to the latrine. Nothing to be scared of."

"Are they going to come back for me?"

"Not while I'm here."

"But you're going away, Indy." A forlorn face peeped up at him out of her blankets.

Shit.

"Give me your hand." He tried her hand around the pistol's grip, and let go. Her wrist sagged-damn. It was too heavy for her.

Now both of them." That was better. Hopefully no one was going to let her out of camp unescorted, and in-camp she'd only have to fire a round or two until help came.

He snugged the blanket a little closer to him and put a thumb under her chin.

"Know what I think, Short Stuff?" he said. "I think a plucky girl like you could learn to shoot my pistol. If you can, I'll leave it with you. That way, no matter what happens, you'll be safe."

"Won't you need it?"

Indy paused and considered.

"Well, I'll be living in Paris, and I don't want to look like some rube from America next to those French guys, see? Most of 'em think we're nothing but gangsters and cowboys. So maybe I shouldn't bring that big pistol to La Sorbonne. If you could take good care of it for me, you'd be doing me a favor."

"What will you do without it?"

"I'll get a smaller gun for emergencies, maybe a Smith & Wesson. Don't you worry about me, though. I'm a grown man and I can take care of myself."

"And sometimes, me, too."

"You bet, baby, and we need to worry about you right now. Think you can learn to shoot this?"

She gulped. "If you teach me, I think I can."

"OK, sweetheart, we've got a deal. Now back to bed with you."

"Can't I stay here with you, Indy? I won't be any trouble."

Worshipful blue eyes gazed up at him-and he gave up without a fight. This proved to be the first of many times that Indiana Jones would find himself unable to say 'no' to Marion Ravenwood.

"Awww, honey, who says you're any trouble? Abe will be back any minute, I'm sure. You can stay here with me till he comes. Put your head on my shoulder and try to sleep, then.."

A short time later, an unmistakable British voice rang through the night as Harold Oxley and Frank Driscoll, pistols in hand, made their rounds as the camp's night patrol.

"Henry, what is the meaning of this?" Ox frowned as he looked at Indy, sitting on a camp chair with their professor's blanket-wrapped daughter settled cozily in his lap.

"Keep it down, Ox, she's asleep. She's had a helluva scare, poor little mite. I promised I'd watch over her till Abe came. She was in that tent crying her heart out and I couldn't stand it any longer. I could hardly stay with her in there, so I brought her out front."

Oxley nodded in understanding. "That is a trifle irregular, but given the circumstances..."

Indy nodded back, and turned to the other graduate student. "I'm telling you, Frank, if I ever have kids you can bet your ass I'm not leaving them to fend for themselves in the middle of hell-and-gone. Especially a little girl... You know, on the way back Marion -God help us- told me some of the Arabic she heard and asked me to translate. I didn't - because they were saying things she shouldn't even be hearing in English."

Frank shook his head and whistled.

'So," Indy continued "the minute Abner shows up and starts acting like a father, I'll gladly hand her over. Until then, she's fine right where she is." Over the sleeping girl's head, his hazel eyes challenged Oxley's blue ones.

Frank put in, "Hell, I've got a kid sister myself. Can't even think of how I'd feel if pigs like that got ahold of Dotsie. You boys did a damn righteous thing. So tell you what, Jones. If Abner's not back by morning I'll take your shift so you can get some shut-eye. Ox, can you detach someone to watch over Marion?"

Ox, struck by these points, answered in a much gentler tone. "If Abner's not back, I will. Carry on, Indiana."

Indy carried on, and sat up with Marion for the rest of the starry desert night.

When a fella spends all night under a blanket with a girl, it's usually a little more fun than this-more kissing and less clothes, for starters... Awww, but just look at that pretty little thing, all cuddled up, safe in her Indy's arms. I'm not her 'older brother' anymore, I'm more than her friend, I can't be her lover-but there's a bond between us. And if she's really got anyone but me in this world I've yet to see it. What the hell am I gonna do?

He sat and pondered until dawn, when Ox and Frank came to relieve him.


	5. The Shooting Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indy teaches Marion to shoot the Webly , and a new understanding begins. And, um, if you'd like to hear 24 year old Indy try to explain to 14 year old Marion about losing his virginity with Mata Hari-well, this may be the chapter for you.

Ravenwood Dig, Jerusalem, 1923

"I know it's a big piece for a little girl, honey. I'm sorry, but it's all I have to give you."

Indy looked down at the teenage girl sitting at his feet, struggling to reload the large pistol in her lap. Her hair was beginning to come out of its braid and there was a smudge of grease on her freckled nose, but her expression was grimly determined.

"What you really need is one of those cute little gats the molls carry in their garters or purses," he observed.

'And exactly how do YOU know where the molls pack heat, Jones?" Marion smirked.

"It's my secret life as a bootlegger," Indy teased in response. "Surely by now you've noticed the Bearcat I drive and the penthouse I live in? Gotta pay for 'em somehow, and a teaching assistant's stipend just won't cut it. Care to explain how you know it's called 'packing heat', doll?"

"I just listen to the graduate students," she replied. "Most of the time you boys forget I'm around, so you say the most outrageous things. Unless Ox is there, and he clears his throat-then you all look embarrassed."

"Uuuummmmm, so what woud you qualify as 'outrageous'?" Indy asked cautiously.

"For one, I know that Ox thinks it's about time you bunch of bad boys paid more attention to scholarship and stopped acting like you're in the Wild West. For another, he says the undergrads are spending too much time and money on 'bad gin and worse women.' And that it's up to the graduate students to set a better example…

Indy held up a chastising hand. "Don't look at me, sweetheart,-if my scholarship wasn't first-rate I wouldn't be headed for La Sorbonne. Plus, I'm a single-malt man, myself-don't touch rotgut if I can help it. As for the Wild West…since we're out here to shoot, maybe Ox has a point."

Marion snickered.

On that note, Indy decided it was time to set up the target.

When he walked back to her, he was wearing his 'teacher-face'-set and serious. He crouched down in front of her and took her hands in his big ones.

"Marion, before we get started I need to you to understand something. This" -he gestured toward the gun- "is not a toy, and we're not playing a game. I'm a good enough shot to have the luxury of shooting to wound when I can. I can't make you that good in the two weeks we have until I leave for Paris. If you ever draw this you must be prepared, and prepared absolutely to take a life if you have to. Do you understand?"

Wide-eyed and solemn, she nodded.

"Now I do think that on the whole, shooting is an easier, cleaner business for a woman than a man."

"So now I'm a woman, Jones?"

Indy closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and implored any Powers that might be listening for patience.

"You'll be one soon, Freckle Face, give it time."

"OK, why is shooting easier for a woman than a man?'

"Mostly because women don't go into combat. You'll never have to fire on some poor bastard who's as hungry and miserable as you are, and wants to go home as badly as you do, just because some idiot gave you an order. A woman should never have to draw a sidearm except to defend herself or those she loves."

His face softened and he gave her braid a tug. "But if it comes to that, you just remember today. And if you remember what I teach you, even if we're not together, a little bit of your Indy will always be there to protect you. Now if you have to use this someday, you may be scared - but even if you are, be brave, shoot straight- and give 'em hell for me, baby. Promise?"

She gulped, but met his gaze steadfastly. "I promise."

Indy drew his pistol and held it out for Marion to see. "Now this is a Webley Mark VI, Short Stuff. British Army issue-Ox probably had one in the Great War, as well. For my money it's the best damn sidearm ever made. This one's gotten me out of a few tight spots in it's time…"

"Me, too, now."

"Exactly. So it's nothing to be afraid of as long as you're the one pointing it. The other guy's gonna be scared plenty when he sees the business end. But this isn't a moll's toy, sweetheart; it's a soldier's weapon. It shoots a big round, it's got a big report, it does kick, and your pretty little hands are gonna feel that kick more than mine do. First order of business is to make sure these things don't frighten you."

"Now c'mere." Indy helped her up, tucked her in front of him, and extended his right arm.

"Put your hand over mine. I'm going to fire a few rounds so you can get used to the way it sounds and feels."

Marion, who was afraid of thunder, nearly jumped out of her skin the first time the big revolver barked and spat. She surely would have dropped it if she'd been holding it by herself. Indy didn't mock or scold her as Abner would have done. Instead, a calm deep voice kept telling her that it was just a noise, honey, nothing to be scared of, and anyway nothing was going to hurt her while Indy was there.

Gradually, Marion relaxed into the warm solid chest behind her, the strong arm to her right, and the big hands guiding hers. By the end of the lesson, she had slipped her hands under Indy's and was pulling the trigger when he said 'fire'.

"What a smart little thing you are!" he said, and gave her a gentle hug with his free arm.

At the second practice session, she used two hands to steady the gun while Indy kept his hands on her shoulders. By the end of the third lesson she was firing on her own.

"Well, done, Marion. From here it's mostly working on your aim."

At the fourth lesson, accuracy proved frustrating, and Marion's arms were shaking by the time Indy called a halt.

"Water break."

"Oh, good."

"And I didn't say water was the only thing I brought."

Indy opened his satchel and produced dried fruit, nuts, and several rather squashed and lumpy sandwiches.

"Made them myself," he said proudly.

Marion eyed the sandwiches dubiously, and spread the blanket she'd carried the target in for them to sit on. They ate in companionable silence, until Marion squared her shoulders and looked Indy in the eye.

"Tell me something."

"Hmm?" he answered, still chewing.

"What are you so worried about, Indy?"

"Didn't Abner talk to you?"

"Abner doesn't tell me anything. I think he barely noticed I'd been gone. If he did, he probably was just sorry the dig got off-schedule because you boys went to get me."

"Awww, honey, you know that's not..."

"Skip it, Jones," Marion said flatly. "If Abner thought I was more important than some tchotchke that's been buried for thousands of years, he'd be here instead of you."

It's tough to grow up, sweetheart... Indy let the excuses die on his lips.

"I'm sorry," he said, finally. "I know. And if it's any consolation, my old man was the same way. If it hadn't been dead for at least 500 years it wasn't worth his time."

A long look passed between them.

After a moment, Marion continued "And besides, I still don't understand why those men took me. Abner isn't rich like the Rockefellers, so it couldn't have been a ransom. The horrid old woman who brought me my water said they were going to send me to 'finishing school' but that can't be right. So Indy, tell me the truth. What did they want me for?"

At this artless request, a sudden wave of heat washed over Indy's face. Henry Walton 'Indiana' Jones, scholar, officer, and man of the world, was mortified to discover that he could still blush.

He put his head in one hand. "You should not" he croaked, "be having this conversation with me. Even I can see that it's completely improper for me to broach this subject with you."

When he looked up, Indy was greeted by frank curiosity, and a faint gleam of mischief, in Marion's lovely eyes.

"So, are you going to tell me or not?"

Damn those eyes. A fella could drown in them. They're gonna be as lethal as this pistol someday soon. If they aren't already.

Marion exhaled a long-suffering sigh. "Indy. If I'm a big enough girl to shoot that gun, I'm a big enough girl for the real story."

"Got me there, Freckle Face. You win."

So Indy patted the blanket beside him and smiled an invitation.

"Ox says you're too big for my lap, and in a lot of ways he's right. But there's nobody here but us and I can't have this conversation looking at your face. So scoot over."

Marion obligingly scooted, and rested her head on his shoulder. She tucked a confiding hand in his arm.

"Now give me a minute here, sweetheart. I'm trying to figure out if there's a way I can tell you enough to keep you safe without having Abe shoot me or Ox never speak to me again."

Indy found a cigarette in his shirt pocket, and pondered while he smoked it. After a few minutes he looked down at her and said:

"OK, let me start by asking you a question: Have you kissed a boy, yet?"

"No, why?"

"Ever think about it?"

Now it was Marion's turn to blush. She hung her head and nodded.

"Don't be embarrassed, honey, it just means that you're growing up. Now that you are growing up, you want to wear different clothes, do different things, and maybe boys don't have cooties anymore, am I right?"

"Well, maybe. Boys are fairly idiotic ."

Indy chuckled. "I've got news for you, baby, that doesn't stop when we turn into men."

"Now when they said 'finishing school', that was slang. What they were really talking about was a whorehouse, a brothel. Do you know what that is?"

"I've heard you boys talk, like I said. It's where men go when they're willing to pay a woman to-"

Indy held up a hand. "You've got the idea. That's probably not a good thing, but it does make my job easier. The old woman was probably the madam, who ran the place. Now she wouldn't have hurt you -not because she liked you, but because you stood to make her a lot of money. Did anyone else come in with her?"

"Once, someone did. An old man, 40 or so."

"She was bargaining, then. Those diggers took you to her, so that she could sell you to one of those old men."

"What for?"

Indy looked straight into her eyes and spoke as gently as he could. "For him to lie with you… as a man lies with a woman."

Marion sat up and glared indignantly. "Henry Jones, that is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard!"

"Maybe it is" he said gravely. "But now that you're growing up, men will want to, er, be with you that way.'

She snorted.

"I'm serious." Indy paused, searching for the right words. "I keep telling you, you're a pretty thing right now, Short Stuff-real pretty. And bet my bottom dollar you're gonna be a drop-dead gorgeous woman. Very soon. When you get back to Chicago, all those young fellas will be lining up for a chance with you, just you wait and see."

Marion laughed. Then she eyed him speculatively. "You seem to know an awful lot about this stuff, Indy. Have you…"

"Sweetheart", Indy drew a deep breath- "Here's where we get to the thin ice. Keeping you safe is one thing. Discussing the, er, 'notches on my belt', and how I got them with a girl your age is well, another. Abe and Ox would skin me alive, and rightfully so. What I can tell you is that I've been knocking around on my own since I was just a little older than you are. I've fought a war, and I've had some experiences that most of Abe's other students haven't. And yes, that includes a few with women."

"Quite a few from what the other fellows say. Did you really sleep with Mata Hari?"

"Honey, are you trying to get me shot before I leave for Paris?"

Marion gave this obvious stalling tactic all the consideration it deserved. "Well, did you?"

Indy could hear the thin ice cracking-but he wasn't going to lie. Not to her. "Well, I did, um, spend the night with her."

She frowned and his face fell. "Awwww...honey, don't look at me like that. I'm not exactly the only guy who can say so."

Indy sighed ruefully and looked down at her, half shamefaced, half defiant. "Your Indy's only human, Shoulder High. And he's been alone in the world a long time. No, I haven't always behaved"-he paused and held up a warning finger- "the way every mother's son in Chicago better behave himself with YOU if he knows what's good for him. But that doesn't have anything to do with what's between you and me, so it's nothing for you to worry your pretty head about, OK?"

Marion looked skeptical, but nodded. "OK."

Then Indy put his hand to his whip with fire in his eyes. "Now. Just who the hell's been running off his mouth about things like that in front of you?"

"Nobody. I just overheard Frank and Dave. Besides, Indy, Ox says a gentleman doesn't 'kiss and tell'. All you had to do was keep shut."

His mouth quirked. "Guess you've got me again, Bright Eyes. How it happened was some of the fellas did a sort of pub crawl in the city before you and Abe got here. I, um, probably had a little more to drink than was good for me. "

"Everybody says you can't hold it worth spit, Jones."

"Hell, 'everybody' may be right-you could probably out-drink me. Anyway, I guess I said something I shouldn't have. And then of course the other guys wouldn't leave it alone."

He eyed her, grinning. "I know I'm gonna regret asking you this, but-is it all over camp?"

She dimpled. "I don't know if the diggers have heard-yet. But everyone else has been talking."

"Aw, shit," said Indy. "Well as rumors go, that's a pretty juicy one. I should have expected it to get around."

Marion cleared her throat. "So, Indy, tell me. When you did that..with her...was it ..did you...I mean, did you like it?"

Indy drew himself up and glared at her in turn. "Marion! What the hell kind of question is that to ask a man?"

She met his gaze squarely. "It's the one I'm asking you."

Indy tipped back the fedora, and ran a harried hand through his hair. "Honey, remember what a syllogism is?"

"Jones, what does that have to do with anything? Everybody knows it's a logic chain with a major premise, a minor premise, and a conclusion."

"Right. So if the major premise is 'All men are very fond of sex' and the minor premise is 'Your Indy, God help him, is a man', then the conclusion is..."

"Ummm...that you like it the way other men do."

He blew out his breath. "Yes."

Marion sat and thought for a long moment. "Oh. So that's why you said we can't have tickle fights anymore, and why Ox says I'm too big to sit on your lap."

The tips of Indy's ears were beginning to turn pink. " Uh, yeah", he muttered. "You may not be a woman yet, doll, but I'm a grown man, and", Indy suddenly became extremely interested in his left boot, "all of that cuddling and roughhousing was getting to be, well..."

"Well, what?"

"A little more, uh, fun than you and I should be having. Ox and Pete called me on it last year-and they were right."

She blushed and looked away. "I'm sorry, Indy."

"Baby, you've got nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who should have known better. Besides, you oughta be flattered -the Three Amigos wouldn't have words over just any skirt."

She frowned. "But the other night, when you brought me home, I spent most of it in your lap."

"That was different."

Marion looked a question at him.

"Marion, honey, any guy who's still breathin' would notice you're a mighty sweet little armful. But that wasn't the important thing, then. What mattered was you were scard and you needed me-and even after what those other men were planning on doing to you, you were willing to trust me." He touched her cheek. "I don't deserve it. But it means a lot, Freckle Face."

"Speaking of not deserving it, Indy...were you in love with her?"

"With who- Margretha? Oh, I thought I was-for about two days. Remember, I was only 17. I guess she made a sort of hobby of seducing wet-behind-the-ears boys in uniform."

"Well, I suppose for a hobby it beats card games or knitting" said Marion in a strangled voice.

Indy choked, and his shoulders started to shake. "I dunno about the knitting, baby...but it sure beats hell out of playing cards!"

And then they were leaning on each other, whooping with helpless laughter; until their sides hurt and they were gasping for breath and he was fishing for a handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes.

Indy wasn't quite sure how she got there, but at some point during all this Marion reclaimed his lap. He noticed that she looked rather smug as she settled in- but then he didn't exactly push her off, either.

Blue eyes peeped up at him from under sooty lashes. "Well I'm sure Margretha -was that her real name? - picked you because you were so much smarter and handsomer than any of those other boys, Indy."

Indy snorted- but his chest puffed out, just a little... "Yeah, I wish. More like the lion cutting the slowest, stupidest antelope from the back of the herd, I'm afraid."

"Was it ..."

"Good God, I can't believe that you're asking me that question. Or that I'm going to answer it. Yes, it was my first time. And no, it wasn't the last time."

"And" he added sternly, "any further details arenotup for discussion, little Bright Eyes. Now, are we doneembarrassing me, or is there more?"

She studied his shirt buttons. "Um, there's more."

"That's a frightening thought." Indy chuckled, and bounced her with his knee. "I swear to God those boys in Chicago are not gonna know what hit 'em. But I think they'll like it."

He grinned. "All right, you cute little bundle of trouble, what else do you want to know about the facts of life?"

"What was it like?"

Indy bit his lip and reminded himself, firmly, that 'not half as good as I want it to be for you' wasn't a helpful answer. "It was...enlightening" he finally said.

He tipped up her chin and tried to put his 'teacher face' back on. "Honey, in other cultures, a boy who wants to become a man is often introduced to the, ah, 'gentle arts of the bedroom' by an older, more experienced woman. She 's usually someone he's not expected to stay with or marry. There's something to be said for that arrangement- maybe it keeps us suffering bastards from making ham-handed fools of ourselves with a girl we really love. And that's very important."

"Why?"

"Because men and women are different."

"No shit, Jones?"

He mussed her hair. "Be quiet, you. What I mean is, if a young fella doesn't, um, do right by his lady on his first try, he's usually real happy to keep practicing until he gets the knack. And" -Indy grinned- "us men are surprisingly trainable. We're just like puppies, really-pet us or throw us a bone, and next thing you know we're on our backs with our paws in the air, asking for a belly rub."

She toyed with his shirt buttons, and he inhaled sharply when a small hand slipped next to his skin and rested on his chest. Her fingers combed through the curling hairs.

"Just like puppies?" she murmured.

"Mmmm…yeahh…just like puppies". Indy knew he shouldn't but just for a moment he closed his eyes and relaxed into her touch. God, that shouldn't feel so good...Then he opened them and glanced over at the holstered Webley.

Weren't we here for target practice? And exactly when DID you lose control of this situation, Captain? Oh, right about the time a sweet baby half my size wrapped me around her little finger, sir…

So he took that delightful caressing hand and moved it to his shoulder. Gently, but firmly.

She made a face. And couldn't I just kiss that sweet little pout away…

"Rub my belly and I'll follow you anywhere, beautiful," he teased softly. "I'm the guy named after his dog, right? But remember the part about more fun than we should be having? That was it."

"And for God's sake, honey, don't do this back home! You turn those gorgeous eyes on some guy who's NOT named 'Henry Jones', cuddle up in his lap, and start unbuttoning his shirt, you've got way more trouble than him telling his pals you're 'fast'. He'll think you're 'asking for it', and you'll be on your back with your pretty knickers halfway down before you can say 'Jack Robinson'. I flat guarantee he'll be bigger and stronger than you are."

Marion gave him a sparkling look and a coy, teasing smile "And how exactly would you know what my knickers look like, Mr. Jones?"

Indy couldn't help it-that called for a squeeze. "It's an educated guess, Miss Ravenwood," he answered, smiling himself. "I'm assuming they're pretty just like the rest of you."

Marion hid her flaming face in his shoulder. "Indy..."

"Marion, honey, you don't know what you're doing. Yet. I haveto be this blunt because I don't want to see you get hurt, and I'll be in Paris where I can't look out for you. Margretha told me that a girl's first time is very important. If the man is rough, or hurts her, or frightens her-she often doesn't want to try again. And that's sad for everybody involved."

"Why?"

"Because of what she and her man have both lost."

Unconsciously, Indy cuddled her closer, and there was a deep, tender note in his voice that Marion had never heard before. "Honey, when a man knows for sure that his woman is his and only his, that she loves him and wants to be close to him that way, then she's everything to him to-everything."

"Really?"

"Really. I promise."

"But when it doesn't work like that, it's kinda hard on a fella's feelings to be told that he's nothing but a beast, and that what he can't help but want with the woman he loves is shameful and disgusting. But the hard truth is that a man doesn't stop needing it because somebody tells him to. So maybe he looks for another woman who will want him, or is at least willing to pretend she does. And even though pretending isn't the real thing, it's enough to keep the brothels in business and women like Lillie Langtry and Margretha Zelle dressed in jewels and furs."

"But I'll tell you something, Shoulder High, when a man loves a woman who is that -everything- for him, the Lillies and Margrethas of this world have damn little appeal. He's got something better and he knows it. He'll walk straight past 100 of them to get to her."

"Have you ever had that, Indy?"

"The honest answer is that I've come close a time or two-but no cigar yet. But I know other guys who have and 24 is still young for a man. So I haven't given up hope, y'know?""

Marion turned those blue eyes up at him, at him, then, and touched his cheek. Indy gazed back for a long moment, stunned by the tenderness and promise he saw on her face.

"Now, there's something else you should know, he said at last. "When you get home some straight laced biddy may think that because your mother's gone it's her duty to tell you about what pigs men are. I bet she'll say that decent women just endure us and our 'baser nature' for the sake of having children."

She dropped her eyes. "Someone's done that already."

"Have they, now? Then you just think about this, Freckle Face. The human race hasn't died out yet-and we keep writing stories and poems and songs about what happens between a man and a woman. Would they all be so beautiful if they weren't about something wonderful?"

She paused thoughtfully. "I don't' think so, no."

"See? Now, sweetheart, I haven't told you everything there is to know about all this, but I haven't told you one lie. And if we need to have another conversation when you're older", -Indy blew out his breath- "we'll see. But this is where we need to stop."

"Thanks, Indy."

"For what?"

"For not treating me like a stupid kid. I will be a woman soon."

Indy froze for a moment. "Oh, I know," he breathed, "I know."

Then he shook his head, reached for the gun, and collected himself.

"Now, every day until I leave, you come to me in the mess tent before supper. You sit down in front of me and show me you can break the Webley and reload it. I'll time you- and you don't eat until you've beaten your time from the day before."

"Why?"

"I'm pretty sure that Ox has sent the bad apples packing, honey. But in case they have friends, I want every man-jack here to know that someone's made sure you can protect yourself. Jones may not start trouble, but by God, Jones can finish it. Nobody hurts the people I care about and gets away with it."

"So you care about me?" asked Marion, greatly daring.

Indy reluctantly unshipped her from his lap, got up, and stretched. "Course I do, Freckle Face. Who else saves my manly pride and lets me win at poker? Now let's shoot a few more rounds before it's time to go."

Marion took his proffered hand and rose to her feet. "Don't kid yourself, Jones, I just let you win 'cause you're such a sore loser. But OK, let's try again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indy's encounter with Mata Hari is actually canon- it was portrayed in the 'Paris, October 1916' episode of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles. Again, please note that the view on sexuality and gender roles expressed by characters in this chapter, while historically accurate for their time, are not necessarily those of the author. I have tried to be true to period while allowing 'my' Indy and Marion to be their free-spirited selves. Feedback is welcome and appreciated!


	6. The Power of the Hebrew God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Island near Crete 1936 "Honey, I'm sorry. I never meant for it to end this way."

An island near Crete, 1936

Indy was amazed that they hadn't been shot out of hand. Perhaps it was Rene Bellocq's monstrous ego, decreeing that his rival witness every moment of his triumph. Or maybe Bellocq knew that Marion was Abner Ravenwood's daughter, and wanted to show her he'd succeeded where her father had failed. What the hell, Indy had to admit, he'd had a few of those thoughts himself.

So not only did he have to watch Bellocq open the Ark-they were gonna film it, for God's sake. Indy and Marion had been dragged to a light pole near the staging area and tied to it, back to back. They little island, Indy noted in the back of his scholar's mind, was obviously volcanic in origin. The cavern they were in formed a sort of natural amphitheater under the dead volcano's chimney. The ground's natural terracing had been enhanced to form steps leading up to a flat space where the Ark rested. A dark sky, full of scudding clouds, was visible through an opening in the 'roof'. Just after nightfall, Indy judged-couple hours till moonrise, and a long way 'till dawn. Not that either he or Marion had much chance of seeing another sunrise.

At the edge of the cavern, a generator shuddered and growled. Nearby, a camera whirred as its operator prepared to document the unveiling of the Third Reich's ultimate weapon. The open crater was surprisingly warm under the film crew's hot kleig lights, but Indy could feel the shiver that ran through his partner. He rolled his wrist enough to loosen his bonds slightly, then slipped a hand back to find hers.

"Honey, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I never meant for it to end this way."

"You never meant for a lot of things to happen, Jones," she whispered back. "But tell me-when you said you'd give them the Ark if they'd let me go-did you mean that?"

"Yeah, I did."

He felt her head come up and knew that she was trying to smile. "Hey-for once in my life I was more important than an artifact. That's gotta count for something."

He swallowed. "Uh, this is probably a really shitty time to tell you I still love you? Never stopped."

"I know. I suppose in a way I've always known."

"And I suppose that after last night you don't love me one little bit."

"Course I do."

"Well since we're gonna be dead real soon now, can you at least say it?"

"Love you," she breathed. "Love my Indy."

"Love you too," he answered softly. "Love my baby."

They squeezed their hands tight as Bellocq began the ritual that would open the Ark. Marion gave a bitter laugh when the Frenchman raised a hand that held only sand, slipping through his fingers...

But Indy felt a rumble in the earth just as thunder rolled above them. The generator coughed, sputtered, then stilled. The lights popped like guns firing as they shorted out. In the sudden darkness, mists began to gather. And Indy remembered things he'd heard long ago, on evenings in Abner Ravenwood's study. OK, back then he and a few other fellas thought Abe was crazy to set any store by all that hocus-pocus. Now? He wasn't so sure. Indy turned his head back as far as it would go and spoke urgently as something boiled up from within the Ark.

"Marion, don't look at it. Shut your eyes, Marion. Don't look at it, no matter what happens!"

He shut his own eyes, hoping desperately that she'd listen to him the way she used to. Marion's fingernails dug into his palm as an uncanny keening filled the air. The thin sounds became louder and louder, deepening to a roar. Then the screams began.

"Don't look Marion! Keep your eyes shut!" Indy shouted again as the world consumed itself in an inferno of wind and flame. He didn't know what to call this -Doomsday, Ragnarok, Armageddon- but it was unlike anything he'd ever imagined. Indy and Marion were buffeted by forces beyond their comprehension, as helpless as ships running before a hurricane. He was her sea anchor. She was his.

Finally, the noise ceased, and the unearthly wind died. Indy opened his eyes and found they stood alone in the cavern. He shook his arms, and the ropes that tied them fell away.

As son as he could reach Indy grabbed Marion and pulled her in tight. "You're all right", he murmured into her hair. "You're all right."

And they watched, hand in hand like children, while a river of light flowed back into the Ark, and its' lid settled down upon it.

"Now" Indy quoted softly "when Solomon had made an end of praying, the fire came down from heaven and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices and the glory of the Lord filled the house. And the priests could not enter into the house for the Lord, because the glory of the Lord had filled the Lord's house."

"Second Chronicles 7, verses one and two", Marion added. "Though I'm not sure this qualifies as the Lord's house, Indy."

"Maybe not. So I want you to take cover while I scout around."

Marion lifted her chin. "What? Listen up, buddy boy, no more dumping me in corners while you go haring off doing God knows what. I'm your partner and I'm coming with you."

Indy looked down at her and a faint smile touched his lips. That baby of mine... half my size and pluck to the backbone. It was often said in archaeological circles that Westerners didn't last long in the Himalayas. He was beginning to understand why this one had.

"All right," he said. "But you'll have to take my jacket. " At her puzzled look, he gestured toward the torn negligee she still wore. "Honey, that pretty thing you've got on will shine like a beacon if a flashlight hits it. We're trying not to get caught, remember? Now, stay close to me-and for once in your life do what I tell you."

She slipped on the jacket on. Together, they ghosted from shadow to shadow, until they'd worked their way to the submarine pen.

"Indy," Marion hissed "Look! Empty guard post over there."

He grinned back at her. "And we've hit the jackpot, little lady- it's got a radio!"

"Think it's safe to go down there?"

"I do. We seem to be the only ones standing, babe. We haven't even seen a body. It's like they never were."

For the anger of the LORD was kindled against Uzzah; and God smote him there for error; and there he died by the Ark of God', Marion murmured. "Never thought I'd actually see it though".

Indy drew her toward him. "Second Samuel, chapter 6 verse 7. You remember."

"I grew up with a man who ate, slept, and breathed the Ark. You bet I do ."

They slipped over to the abandoned table and chair. Indy reached for the the radio knobs-and froze. For there on a nearby crate, neatly arranged, were a bullwhip and a pistol. Alongside then was a worn fedora. Indy jammed the hat on his head, fastened the bullwhip to his belt, and picked up the gun. He let out a low whistle.

"I'll be damned. It's even loaded" He pressed his lips together and looked at Marion. "Beats me how the hell this happened. They disarmed me when I was captured- and I'll bet my life they didn't leave my things here-exactly the way I lay them out by my cot."

"Indy. Have a little faith." Marion tilted her head toward the way they had come. "If whatever Power was in the Ark was could do all this- it could surely give you back your weapons. Maybe He-It knows you're the good guy."

"ME?" he answered soberly "Hell, no. If anything, that Power knew you for an innocent victim and spared you. I'm just along for the ride because I'm your ticket outta here."

He handed her the Webley. "So take this is and cover me, honey. I'll have the headphones on and you'll hear company before I will. I'm gonna try and raise Katanga. "

A lot of Morse Code later, Indy took off the headphones and turned to her, exultant.

"Something's finally gone right. Katanga's turning back to get us, and he should be here by first light. I can't have his men telling tales, so we'll crate the Ark back up in the morning. He'll drop us at the British naval base at Malta, the Brits will evacuate us to Liverpool, then we sail for home."

Marion whistled softly. "That was fast." she said.

"Your Indy's come up in the word, beautiful. The US Government is bankrolling this little jaunt, and they want it wrapped up clean. And we will. But first..."

Indy sat back in the chair, patted his lap and smiled at her.

Marion put the gun down on the table and went to him. She wound her arms around his neck and he kissed her, slow and deep, letting his hands run down her back and up the silken length of her legs.

"Mmmm..." he said when they came up for air. "That'll do for starters. Much as I'd like to finish it..."

"We can't get distracted" Marion finished for him "-not if there are any survivors holed up."

"No. But," he tipped up her chin, "If you're willing, you and I have a date with a locked door and a soft mattress once we're safely out of this mess."

She tucked her head onto his shoulder and smiled into his neck. "You never know, Jones. I just might be agreeable."

"All right. Now that I've got a gun, let's scout out that sub, see if we can scare up some blankets and rations."

Marion flinched as they approached the submarine. "Do we have to go aboard, Indy?"

"Well we could carry more with two of us, and -Wait." Indy's voice roughened with a tenderness he hadn't used for a long, long time as he turned to face her.

"Did they hurt my baby?"

Incongruously, she sniffled. "Not really, but they were getting around to it. My German isn't t great but I could tell they were arguing about, um, 'who was on first' on the way here."

Indy's mouth compressed into a thin line. "Bastards. I'm not nearly so sorry that the Ark settled their hash, now."

Soon they had a driftwood fire going on the beach and enough food and blankets to see them through the night. Indy even produced a small bottle of schnapps.

"Just a toast for medicinal purposes, I think," he said. "Then you turn in, sweetheart. I'll take the first watch."

"You," she rejoined firmly, "will do no such thing. You're dead beat, Jones, and after all this you deserve to live to collect your reward."

He took her hand. "I've got my reward. But if you're serious..." Whatever Indy was about to say next was smothered in a yawn.

"Put your head in my lap and try to sleep, Indy. I'll wake you if I need to."

As the night deepened, Marion stood watch and fed the fire. She looked at the moon, sailing serenely through the now cloudless sky, and the stars that wheeled overhead like a great mandala. She thought about everything she'd been taught in the Himalayas-about karma, and the cycle of death and rebirth. Here, now, the circle closes. The two people Abner Ravenwood loved most in the world have finished his quest. But it isn't over-there's still a debt to be paid. It would be many years before Marion would speak of what happened next.

She felt a soft tug behind her sternum and a word formed in her mind. Come. She cocked her head , listening, but there was no sound except the fire, and the waves, and Indy's breathing. The she heard it again. Come. The pull in her chest intensified, and she lifted her head in the direction it seemed to be drawing her. Back into the cavern, toward the Ark. Marion shook her shoulders and raised her head, decision made. Then she slipped Indy's head onto a blanket and laid the Webley under his hand. Somehow, she thought she had all the protection she needed.

The way into the Ark's chamber seemed much shorter than the way out had been. When Marion reached the cave, she kept a respectful distance from the golden box and sat down with her head bowed. She touched her thumbs and forefingers together and took a few quiet breaths, calming her mind as she had learned in Nepal.

Indy wants to take You to America, she thought at the Power resting there. He'll get his fortune and glory. Abner will get some credit for finding You, too. And that's all very well and good-but I'm the one who paid the price for their ambitions. And no amount of money will make up for what I've lost.

A wordless question seemed to form in the still air.

What have I lost? Marion answered in her mind. I lost my childhood when my mother died and Abner dragged me all over the world looking for You. I lost my girlhood because Abner threw me in Jones' way. Now Indy- she admitted painfully- Indy didn't take anything I wasn't willing to give him. But-16 is still awfully young to be a grown man's mistress. Then I lost my baby when it was all over and 10 years of my life when Abner and I washed up in Nepal. So I have come to beg a boon from You.

Again, that sense of patient waiting.

"If You brought the children of Israel out of the wilderness" she whispered, "can You give me my life back? If You are the One who caused barren Hannah to conceive, can You let me have another child?"

Marion sat back, stunned by her own audacity. In the dark, the ark began to glow. She drew an incredulous breath as a tendril of light escaped from under the lid. Gently, slowly, it wound its way to her across the stone floor. The light brightened and encircled her in a honey-colored nimbus, peaceful as a summer evening. She breathed it in like comfort and joy. Finally the light dimmed, unfurled, and retreated toward the Ark. As it did Marion thought she heard a few last words.

"I will cause all My goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim the name Yahweh before you" said that silent Voice. "I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion."

Exodus 33:19, Marion noted automatically. "Thank you," she whispered, and rose.

With soft sure steps she picked her way back to the guttering fire and her sleeping man.

She woke him with the sunrise when the Bantu Wind hove to.


	7. A Closing Door, and a Parting Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is set in New York, 1937.  
> "Indy stood up, folded his last farewell in half, then folded it again. He set the square of paper on Marion's pillow where she'd be sure to find it when she came home.."

Interlude 1

New York City, December 1937

Snowflakes danced and whirled in the winter wind outside Marion Ravenwood's window. Inside the apartment, her fiance' sat on the bed with his feet on the coverlet. A suitcase, propped on his lap, served as a makeshift writing surface. The only sound in the room was his pen, scratching over a sheet torn from a field notebook. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to sit at her desk and use her paper to say what he had to say.

...and part of me-he finished at last-no doubt the best part, will always be yours. He paused, swallowed hard, and signed his name. Indy.

Indy stood up, folded his last farewell in half, then folded it again. He set the square of paper on Marion's pillow where she'd be sure to find it when she came home. As he picked up his suitcase and started for the door, a sweet voice echoed in his mind...You're going away, Indy...Damn.

Be a man, Jones, he scolded himself. Marion doesn't need you anymore, and she deserves better than you can give her. A clean break is best-she'll understand that in time. And probably be thankful for it. As for you-his head lifted-the Cross of Coronado is waiting- and it won't slip through your fingers this time. He braced his shoulders, reached for his suitcase, then drew back. But...if leaving's the best thing to do,why do I feel like there's a knife in my chest? What's gonna happen to that baby of mine without me? Indy paused in thought, then felt for the holster under his jacket. He'd left the Webley with Marion before-on nights when she worked late, and once or twice she'd kept it when he'd been out of the country. Maybe I can't stay with you-but this can.

He locked the safety and put the big gun on top of her pillow, over the note. Be safe, honey. Be safe and well. Dry those pretty eyes real soon and- well, just live happily ever after. Get a new man, get a new life, but keep this little bit of your Indy. Maybe someday you'll be able to smile and remember me. Because I know I'll never forget you.

Hell, if he was going, he'd better scram before she got back and his shaky resolve drowned in the undertow of those blue eyes. Indy wheeled and strode out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with unnecessary force. The Webley, shaken by the vibrations, slipped off the pillow and slid next to the wall.

Interlude 2

New York, 6 days later.

Tomas Majeski was no fool, and he hadn't been born yesterday. In the old country, he'd seen which way the wind from Germany was blowing, and he'd wasted no time in getting his family to safety in America. And if he made less as a super in New York than he had as a teacher in Prague, it as a small price to pay for knowing that he'd live to see his children grow up.

Today, Tomas climbed the stairs of the brownstone he managed to attend to some business with one of his favorite tenants. Pretty Miss Ravenwood was moving out and he was on his way to inspect her apartment. This was no surprise- Miss Ravenwood had given her notice last summer, after she'd shown him an impressive ring and told him she'd be marrying Dr. Jones.

Tomas had felt some private misgivings about that engagement. He'd never been quite sure that he liked Dr. Jones. Oh, the man was affable enough, but there was something about him that hinted at unexpected depths and secrets untold. And from the way Dr. Jones came and went, he was obviously sleeping with Miss Ravenwood. Now, Tomas was well aware that Miss Ravenwood was his tenant, not his daughter- her personal life was no bread and butter of his. But every woman was someone's daughter, he thought with a sigh. He knew what he'd have done to a bounder who treated Anna or Kristina that way. Besides, it was common knowledge that these 'arrangements' seldom ended well. At least not for the girl.

And in fact, something was clearly amiss in apartment 307. Miss Ravenwood was still moving out as planned, but the last time he'd seen Dr. Jones was nearly a week ago. The man, suitcase in hand, had hurried down the stairs and passed Tomas by without so much as a 'pardon me'. Then he'd climbed into a waiting cab and slammed the door. Dr. Jones hadn't been back since-and you didn't have to be Albert Einstein to figure that one out.

Two days later, another fellow appeared, a dapper tweed-clad Briton, who'd introduced himself courteously as as a friend of Miss Ravenwood's late father. Oxley was his name-Dr. Harold Oxley. Now him Tomas had liked on sight- the teacher in him respected the scholar in Oxley and besides, you could always tell a gentleman. Dr. Oxley, unlike Dr. Jones, always arrived and left at a decent hour. He seemed to be helping Miss Ravenwood get her affairs in order- there was clearly nothing romantic between them. Well, if the poor girl had really been jilted, it was completely proper for a family friend to step in.

Dr. Oxley also brought a friend in his wake, another Englishman who'd caused quite a stir around the Majeski family's dinner table. This man's name was Williams-Pilot Officer Colin Williams. Mr. Williams was friendly and kind-he 'd sat on the stoop with ten- year-old Stefan and talked to him at length about aeroplanes. This was enough for Stefan to decide he was a 'swell guy' , ranked second only to his hero, Charles Lindbergh. Mr. Williams was also taller, younger, and rather handsomer than Dr Oxley. Sixteen-year-old Kristina pronounced him 'dreamy' and tried to flirt with him. Twenty-year-old Anna, with a reserve becoming to a betrothed young woman, just said that he 'seemed nice.' His Martya had accepted her son's hero worship, looked approvingly at her older daughter, and told the younger, firmly, not to embarrass herself by making eyes at Mr. Williams.

"Besides the fact that he's too old for you, he's in love with Miss Ravenwood. Anyone could see it."

Tomas' fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "What? but he.."

Martya smiled lovingly at husband's male obliviousness. "Of course he is. Just look at his eyes-the way they follow her. I'm sure he thinks it's too soon for him to speak-which it is, if Dr. Jones really walked out like we think he did. But darling, no man goes to this kind of trouble for a woman who's not family unless he has an interest."

When Tomas opened the door to 307, he found a flurry of activity. Mr. Williams, in his shirtsleeves, was carrying boxes to a pile in the hall labeled 'Salvation Army'. Dr Oxley was crouched down by the baseboard, holding an electric torch so the man from the telephone company could see to disconnect the wires. Miss Ravenwood, dressed in gray Hepburn trousers and a simple red sweater, was perched on a crate in the living room, directing traffic.

"No, fellas," she was saying to two sturdy-looking men in work clothes, "the trunk doesn't go with the furniture. Furniture goes to Adams Brothers Storage in Fairfield. I don't remember the whole address, it should be on your bill of lading. The trunk's a direct drop to Barnett College for a Dr. Henry Jones. That's in Fairfied too; address is on the label. And it's marked fragile for a reason, all right?"

"What's in it?" one of the movers said curiously.

Mr. Williams moved to put the kibosh on that line of inquiry.

"Nothing of any value, mate, except to scholars. It's artifacts and such for the museum."

The big man grinned as he measured the top of the trunk. "You know, I used to collect arrowheads when I was a kid in Oklahoma. Beats me why eggheads make such a fuss over those little bits of junk, though."

Miss Ravenwood's eyes sparked with private amusement at this, and she gave a short laugh. "You and me both, brother," she said, shaking her head. "You and me both."

The movers were starting to load out when a third man poked his head around the bedroom door.

"What about the bedroom suite, ma'am?" he asked.

"That's staying here, actually." She turned to Tomas, blushing faintly. "I offered it to Paul and Anna for their new home. I hope that was all right-I know it's hard for a young couple starting out these days."

Tomas looked in the bedroom door and his eyes widened. "That's a very generous gift, Miss Ravenwood," he said, touched. The suite of matching Art Deco furniture was both handsome and of fine quality -far beyond the means of a young tailor and his new bride. The bed may have been used for immoral purposes but the kids could always buy a new mattress.

"Well," Miss Ravenwood sighed, "Someone may as well get something good out of all this, Mr. Majeski."

"Speaking of which-" she called the movers over and reached into her purse with a dazzling smile. "Here's a little extra for your trouble, boys. Have a drink on me when you finish up here."

It was, Tomas noticed, a rather generous tip. "Thank YOU, Miss," the movers chorused, and set to work.

Tomas, with Mr. Williams and Dr Oxley in his wake, walked through the the bedroom door. They cast measuring looks at the contents. "The lamps are no trouble, and the dresser and nightstand are fine, but you'll never get that bed out in one piece, mate," said Mr. Williams. "Though if you've got a screwdriver your future son in law and I should be able to shift it all right."

Paul was summoned from downstairs and he, Dr. Oxley, and Mr. Williams set to work moving the bedroom suite to the lumber room. It would wait there, covered in sheets, for the newlyweds' first apartment.

Meanwhile, Tomas took out his checklist, walked through the nearly empty flat and found everything in order. "Where would you like the cheque for your damage deposit sent, Miss Ravenwood?"

"Don't want a cheque mailed, thanks," she answered. "If you have any cash I'll take something toward the balance, otherwise-" Miss Ravenwood paused, and smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes-"why don't you keep the deposit and get the kids something for Christmas?"

Tomas hesitated. This wasn't strictly 'according to Hoyle', but he hadn't asked-she had offered. He thought of the Lionel train Stefan hoped for, some pretty earrings for Kristina, and perhaps some dishes for Anna and Paul...

"C'mon," coaxed Miss Miss Ravenwood, grinning now, "Where's your sense of adventure? The landlord doesn't have to know."

Tomas smiled back. "Well, if you insist. I've got some cash in the safe-enough togive you about half of the money tonight. It's been a pleasure having you here," he added. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

She looked thoughtful. "It's been a pleasure knowing you and your family as well, Mr. Majeski. And there is one thing that would help me a lot..."

The super beamed. "Name it."

"I doubt this ever will happen, but if anyone comes looking for me-anybody at all-" Miss Ravenwood paused, then continued, resolutely, "Tell whoever it is that I cleaned the place up, paid my rent in full, and didn't leave a forwarding address, all right?"

Tomas' eyes flicked over the loose fitting sweater. Miss Ravenwood's tired face was softer and fuller-so like his Martya's when she'd been carrying their first child.

He took her hand, now bare of any ring, and bowed over it gallantly. "You have my word on it," he said. "I'll go downstairs and get your cash."

As the super's footsteps faded, Marion sat down on her suitcase, and put her head in her hands. The secret she carried made her tire more quickly, these days, and she realized that it had been a little too long since she'd had anything to eat. She reached for her purse again, and unwrapped the 5th Avenue candy bar she kept there for emergencies.

She ate it slowly, savoring each bite of chocolate and peanuts. She'd missed American sweets in Nepal, and Indy kidded her mercilessly about her stash of candy. When he wasn't bringing her boxes of chocolates, that is. Oh, Indy. She'd been so frantically busy these last few days what with calling off the wedding and getting ready to make tracks, that she hadn't had time to think about tomorrow. Tomorrow-the day she would have married him. But with the last items on her list crossed off, the adrenaline that had kept her going faded. Exhaustion crawled up her spine and pinged in the tired muscles of her neck and shoulders. She leaned against the wall just for a moment, and...

Indy was sitting in the armchair by the window, reading the newspaper in his robe and slippers.

"You look comfortable," she remarked, "very husbandly."

"Do I, now?" The warm light glinted off his eyeglass frames as he looked up at her and smiled. "Figured I might as well practice, since I'll be a husband tomorrow."

She leaned on the doorjamb between the living room and the bedroom and smiled back.

"Your tux is ready to go, Jones, and" she added teasingly ,"since you're not supposed to see the bride till the wedding I guess I'll just say goodnight now."

Indy set down his newspaper and crossed the room in a few determined steps. "Oh no you don't, little lady. If I have to sleep in the living room you're not gettin' the bed to yourself. " Indy's voice was gruff but his eyes twinkled and a smile curled the corners of his mouth.

"So watcha gonna do about it?"...she challenged.

He swooped.

"Henry Jones! Put me down this minute!"

Marion's protests fell on deaf ears. She was picked up, slung over his shoulder, and carried off to the armchair.

"Aaah, don't kid the kidder, sweetheart." Indy slipped a finger under the spaghetti straps of her negligee. "A woman who wanted to be left alone wouldn't be wearing this little number."

Marion's grin was hidden in his chest. "Well...maybe not".

Indy pulled his robe around to cover them both and settled her in his lap.

They had been bickering more than she liked, but her Indy's arms were still the safest place in the world...

"Mmmm...love my baby" he murmured, as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

Satisfied, she laid her head on his shoulder and unbuttoned his pajama top to slip a hand inside, over his heart.

"Hey" said a velvet rumble next to her ear, "Is the groom supposed to get the bride a wedding present?"

"How the hell should I know? I've never done this before..."

"Well, I, um, didn't know either so I got you something just in case, Short Stuff..."

She snuggled in closer. "Funny you should mention that, Jones, because I have a surprise for you, too..."

A noise in the hall jolted her back to reality. I must have dozed. Yeah, that's the way things should have been tonight, the way I wish they were...

Marion gave herself a little shake. If wishes were horses, Abner used to say, then beggars would ride. Abner- what the hell. Maybe his ghost is still prowling that mountain, searching for more things he'll never find. At least Indy stranded me in New York, where they have electricity and running water.

She pressed her hands to her forehead and breathed deeply the way she'd learnt in Patan. She was damned if she'd cry in front of Col and Ox, or show anything but a cheerful face to the Majeskis. I survived Nepal, I can make it through this. Things are tough all over, and tears are a luxury I can't afford. She patted her barely rounding belly, lifted her chin, and pulled her shoulders back. Stick with me, kid, and we'll make it to Broadway, she told her baby.

Marion was rearranging her suitcase when she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

"I thought you might be taking a last look 'round" Colin said gently. "Ox and your super are deep in a discussion of Schleimann's discoveries at Mycenae, so I've come up to collect you. Mrs. Majeski is calling us a cab. We can drop your luggage at the hotel and maybe get an early dinner-it'll be a long day tomorrow."

Marion smiled. "Good plan. Flying to England's a major undertaking, and in a mail plane, no less..."

"You said it And there's-something else..."

Marion looked up uncertainly. Colin had been such a perfect gentleman so far, she hoped he wasn't going to stop now. It was such a refreshing change...

"What?" she said.

Instead of trying to kiss her, Colin reached into his jacket pocket.

"Father Christmas seems to have left something in your bedroom." He brought out a large pistol.

Marion's eyes widened. " My God, Col, it's Indy's gun. However did you come by that?"

Colin turned the Webley over in his hands.

"It fell out of the bed frame. I, ah, didn't think this was anything your super's son-in-law needed to see, so I pocketed it. Rather an odd spot for a gun, though. "

"Really?"

"Well, normally if one has a pistol, it's either secured or right at hand, not hidden between bed-springs and a wall."

"So what do you make of that, Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't think" Colin said at last, "that this was forgotten. If our boy had just overlooked it -in the heat of the moment, so to speak, wouldn't it have been in the nightsta-"

Colin flushed-bad form to mention where Jones had been spending his nights- but he bit his lip and recovered quickly. "I mean, in a drawer, or some such thing? This was left out for you to find-likely on the bedspread. Probably just got lost in the general confusion."

"Maybe so" said Marion "I didn't notice it, but then, I haven't been sleeping in there. Well, not since Indy left, anyway."

"I see" said Colin. And did. He cast about for away to change the subject, but the big gun-and what it signified-hung between them like smoke from a distant campfire.

"Seems rather an odd memento, if you don't mind my saying so." He paused. "Does it have any special meaning for, er, the two of you?"

Marion frowned " I don't think-let me see- oh."

She bit her lip and her eyes misted over, but her voice remained steady and clear. "Yes, there's a bit of a story. Indy taught me how to shoot with this Webley- long ago and far away. He let me scratch my initials by the grip after I could break and reload it as fast as he could."

She pointed to the faint marks.

"There they are," said Colin, chuckling, " and with a little flourish on the 'R', too. You must have been very young."

"I was-only 14. Indy was oh, 24 or 25."

"Was he indeed?" said Colin. Those blue eyes met his, and Colin decided he'd best keep his opinion of grown men who took advantage of young girls to himself. At least for now. He forced a smile and said "Another place and time indeed. But why did Jones, of all people, teach you how to shoot?"

"Indy and Ox were both student's of my father's-you knew that, right? I used to go along on Dad's travels and digs, and Abner Ravenwood passed through some pretty rough places, let me tell you. Indy thought I needed the protection."

Her voice trailed off and Colin raised an eyebrow. "Well if you're looking for protection, you can't go wrong with this. My Da has a Webley from the Great War. He says the it's the best damn sidearm ever made- and I know a lot of pilots who carry one, as well. But you've been so scrupulous in tying up loose ends with Indiana-even sending back your engagement ring- are you sure you want to keep this?"

"I'm keeping something else of his" said Marion dryly. "And you're not the first man to tell me the Webley's the best damn sidearm ever made." Her hand drifted to her waist. " I may have to use it someday to protect this little one-I can swallow my pride for my baby's sake."

"I hope to God you'll never need it."

"I hope I don't either. But the world can be a very ugly place, Col."

"Yes it can. I'm just sorry that you know so much about that."

Marion opened the train case that held her makeup and overnight necessities. "Well the bellhop will surely think I'm some gangster's Moll if I start waving a gun in front of him. I'll just stash it in here for now." She wrapped the Webley in a scarf and tucked it in with her lingerie.

She straightened, and he automatically offered a hand to help her up. "We'd better get downstairs and turn in the keys, Col. Ox is waiting for us."

Colin grinned. "When last seen, Ox was on about a golden mask that may or may not have belonged to Agamemnon. He'll have to be reminded we exist." Their eyes met in wry understanding.

"Right then." Colin picked up the suitcase. "You take the train case, I'll carry this for you."

Colin stepped back and gestured for Marion to precede him. Instead, she smiled-faint and wavering, but a smile nonetheless- and took his arm.

He closed the door behind them.


	8. Another shooting lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1952, Chicago
> 
> Marion teaches Indy's son to shoot

Chicago, Illinois

October 1952

I have to be father and mother both, today….

Marion 'Mary' Williams smiled at the lanky teenage boy walking beside her over the fallow Illinois field.

"The guys can't believe that you know how to shoot, Mom. Bill's dad doesn't believe you own a Webley."

"Well, I do and I do, Mutt. The boys will just have to cope."

Sometimes, Marion was still amazed to be looking up at her son's face. There were times when she still expected to have a little boy reach for her hand, and was surprised at the effort it took to match a young man's long legged strides. But Mutt was growing up, no doubt about it, and today it was time for him to take another step. After all, she'd learned to shoot at 14.

I dreamed about Indy last night -only natural, I guess. We were out there in the desert and I was standing in front of him, shooting this gun at a target. Indy told me that nothing was going to hurt me while he was there. Only this time he kissed me, too, and said 'I love you, Bright Eyes'. I woke up crying for him, goddammit. But there's no time for that now- Mutt needs me and my boy comes first. A broken heart hasn't killed me yet-it can damn well wait till later.

They set up a target by the fence and walked back to the firing line together. Then Marion turned to her boy and took one of his big hands.

"Mutt, I know you want to get started, but before we do there are a couple of things you should know. A sidearm is different from the rifle shooting you did at Scout camp. When your father taught me to shoot the Webley, he also taught me some important things. And now, I guess I get to pass them on to you."

"Like what?" said Mutt, intrigued.

"He told me that drawing a sidearm is an act with consequences. One of those consequences, sadly, could be taking a life. He said that I had to be absolutely ready to face that if it came. This isn't a toy, son, it's a weapon- just like your blade is a weapon. And a weapon is a big responsibility. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"He also said that I should never have to use a gun except to defend myself or protect those I love. And I want you to promise me that's how you'll use his gun. Never for your own gain, never to show off or prove how tough you are. Do you promise?"

"I do. Scout's honor, Mom."

"Well then, I know your Dad would want me to tell you to be brave, shoot straight, and give 'em hell for him." Marion gave her son a misty smile, then got down to business.

"Now, stand by me and put your hands over mine. The Webley is really too big for me, so I have to use a two-handed grip. Your father could shoot it with one hand, and when you get your full growth you should be able to as well. For now, switch grips when you need to. First, we'll fire a few rounds together so you can get used to how it sounds and feels."

Those hands covered hers as easily as his father's had, now. Mutt flinched a little at the first kick and report, but his lips formed the word 'brave' and he steadied himself to try again. And again, and again, until he was holding the Webley by himself and his aim began to true.

It was a long drive back to the city, so Marion and Mutt stopped at a diner on their way home. Marion nibbled on a grilled cheese sandwich and watched, bemused, as Mutt devoured two cheeseburgers, a milkshake, and both of their fries. Then her son looked up, hopefully, and asked if there was any dessert.

The waitress brought a generous slice of coconut cream pie. "My boy's 16", she said, smiling. "I cut it extra thick."

Mutt grew thoughtful as he plowed through his plate, and Marion looked at him fondly over her coffee cup.

"What's on your mind, Mutt?"

Mutt sighed. "I wish I remembered more about my Dad-I was so little when he died. And all those things you told me-wow. It was like having him right there with us. He taught them to you and now I know them too. Dad-shi-I mean shoot- he was a real man's man, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was. He was handsome and strong, tender and true, and very, very brave. But your father wasn't a hero out of books, kiddo, he was a flesh and blood human being . He had his faults, as do we all. But I think" Marion's voice caught in her throat, "that he'd be with you if only he could. And I'm sure that if he knew you he'd be very proud of you."

Mutt's face softened. In a heartbreakingly adult gesture, he caught his mother's hand between his, and brought it to his cheek, where the beard was beginning to grow.

"Do you miss him, Mom?"

"Every day. I still love him, honey. But I've learnt a lot of things since your father"… Marion paused and licked her lips… "went away. One of them is that nothing you've ever really loved is ever really lost." She smiled. "And I'm so lucky that I have you-and that you carry on so much of him."

"Am I really like my Dad? I mean, from the pictures I've seen, we don't look much alike."

Marion took a deep breath. "You favor the Ravenwood side some - you have my coloring and your build is leaner and more wiry than your Dad's. I wouldn't be surprised though, if you fill out when you're a little older. You'll be a pretty big guy when the rest of you catches up to those feet, kid- I wouldn't worry."

The feet in question, clad in very large boots, scuffed under the table.

"You've got your father's eyes," Marion continued, lost in memory, "and your smile-the one the girls think is 'dreamy'-that's from him, too."

Mutt ducked his head in embarrassment. "Geeze, Mom."

"And you're like him in other ways - you're very smart, like he was. You definitely hear the beat of your own drummer, the way he did. And you won't stand for seeing other kids bullied or hurt-I think he'd be the proudest of that. Not to mention that you're stubborn, though I think I contributed some there."

Marion grinned and signaled the waitress for the check.

"Speaking of which, I think you have Algebra homework, so we better be getting back."

Mutt sighed resignedly. Algebra. Oh, brother.

Mother and son headed into the gathering dusk, bound for home.


	9. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A father-son fishing trip and Indy has some explaining to do...

Bedford, Connecticut

September 1958

Henry Jones, Junior set down his coffee mug and looked across the kitchen table at his-recently discovered- soon to be 20 year old son.

"Weather's good" he remarked. "Clear, dry and not too hot. I thought about going up to the lake this weekend. It's a good time to camp out, do a little fishing, get in some target practice away from, um, prying eyes."

"You want to come?"

Mutt glanced over his shoulder for his mother and lowered his voice.  
"Can we make it just the men-folk this time? I mean, It's nice to think that when I'm your age I'll still have it goin' on, but there's some things I just don't need to hear, OK? I can't put on a record at the lake, capisce?"

Indy smirked into his coffee. "Capisce. How about we leave Friday night and come back Sunday afternoon? I know your mother keeps telling me that she's fine but I don't want to leave her for too long."

Mutt sighed . "If I had a dime for every time she told you that she's not the first woman in history to have a baby.."

Friday evening, Indy and Mutt finished eating just as the first stars were beginning to come out over their campsite.

"Nothing like fresh fish" Indy said contentedly.

"Gotta beat those lizards we ate in Peru," Mutt answered.

"Anything beats lizard, but they were what I could kill without wasting a bullet. Speaking of bullets, I brought blanks for tomorrow. You brought your own gun?"

"Yeah. It's a Webley, " Mutt added proudly.

Indy raised an eyebrow. "Is it, now? I've owned a couple of 'em -that's some heat."

The next few words came out in a rush, before Mutt could take them back.  
"I hope you don't mind, but it belonged to my Dad, my other Dad, I mean-Colin. It means a lot to me. "

Indy swallowed. "It should."

"It's not so much the gun, it's the story. Dad gave it to Mom- he taught her to shoot with it, just like she taught me."

In the firelight, Indy's face went white. With an effort, he controlled his voice and asked "What's the story?"

"When Mom gave it to me, she said that my father 'may have had his faults' but he was a very brave man. And she said that even though he couldn't be with us, this was like having a little bit of him, y'know?" She said that if I had to use it, I might be afraid and that was OK. But I could remember that part of my Dad was always there, helping me to be brave, like he was. And that he'd want me to shoot straight and give 'em hell for him."

Indy didn't speak for a moment.

"Good thoughts, kid" he finally said.  
"Ever had to use it?"

Mutt flashed a half smile, "Not really. I don't usually need this much heat. And of course the one time we could have really used it, I left it at home."

Indy smiled back. "It works that way sometimes. I've lost my gun a time or two."

"It did come in handy one time when me and Gary went camping. Some guys decided to try and steal our bikes- they found somewhere else to be in a big hurry when I pulled this little beauty."

"I'm not surprised. May I see it?"

Mutt walked around the campfire and handed the pistol over.

Indy broke the gun open, nodding approvingly as he checked it.  
"Nothing like a Webley- best sidearm ever made. For my money it beats the Enfield or the Smith and Wesson, and I can see you've taken good care of it.."

Indy started loading the chamber with blanks and froze, as his suspicions were confirmed. Then he continued, a little too casually, "So tell me... does it still throw a little to the left?"

"Well yeah," Mutt answered, "but after a while you learn to you learn to compen- Wait. How the HELL did you know that?"

Mutt looked up, surprised, to see that something on the older man's cheeks glittered in the firelight. Surely those weren't...tears?

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Just hear me out, kid". Indy's voice shook with suppressed emotion, and a faint tremor went through the big hands holding the gun.

"Your other dad-my buddy Col... was a helluva man. A brave man, and a good man and if you want the truth , maybe a better man than the one sitting here. I owe him more than I could ever repay."

Indy drew a long, jagged breath. "Col would, in fact, have carried a Webley. It was RAF issue and most of the pilots wanted to take a sidearm that meant business topside, in case they got shot down. But he never carried this one. I did. This was my service revolver from the Western Front."

"This was YOURS? The hell you say!"

Indy willed his voice to calmness and put a gentle hand on his boy's arm. "Mutt, I'm sorry, but think. Col's plane was shot down over the English Channel. If they never recovered his body, they couldn't have recovered his sidearm. This was mine and I can prove it. Get the flashlight and I'll show you."

Mutt ran the flashlight over the Webley, following his father's lead. Indy's hands and voice steadied with the familiar ritual of exhibiting an artifact. He picked up a twig and started using it as a pointer, turning the gun in his hand as he spoke.

"Now here, the 'PL' was scratched on by the first poor bastard to carry this. His name was Paul LeFebre-Lieutenant Paul LeFebre, in point of fact. Wet-behind-the-ears Second Lieutenants were a dime a dozen in the trenches, and most of us didn't last long. After Paul was killed some fool decided to give me a field promotion. Now enlisted men carried rifles with bayonets-only officers were issued handguns. But weapons were in short supply so I 'inherited' Paul's pistol as my officer's sidearm. Over here, by the chamber, are the 'H' for 'Henri' and 'D' for "Defense" -I didn't enlist under my own name- and the "1916" that I scratched in with my trench knife."

"Shit. How old were you?"

Indy's voice grew distant. "Sixteen when I enlisted. Seventeen on the Somme."

"So how did Mom get it?"

"I gave it to her."

"What?"

"Col didn't teach Marion to shoot-I did. And this was the gun I used. So I left it for her, that day in '37". There was a pause, and words when you walked out hung between them, unspoken.

Indy broke the silence. "I had my head pretty far up my ass, back then, and yeah, I know it. But I still wanted her to be safe."

"So," said Mutt, considering, "when Mom said it belonged to my father, she was really talking about you."

"'Fraid so. But, for once, your mother was wrong."

"What was she wrong about?"

"Mutt" Indy said softly, "your father wasn't a brave man. He was a coward. And because he wasn't man enough to make things right, his woman and his child-the two people he should been ready to lay down his life for-were left alone in the world until a better man stepped in. Oh, he's a hero, your Dad. Just a fucking hero." His voice broke.

Indy looked down at the Webley, still cradled in his hands. His son wouldn't respect him if he turned into maudlin old man, forever apologizing. Yet he was so full of regret and yearning for all the years he could never get back.

At last, he looked up and said "Old men are full of stories, aren't we? And I've found a lot of 'em in my time. But I lost some things, too."

Indy touched a thumbnail to the scar on Mutt's cheek.

"Now, before any of this started, Colin was my friend. I'm sure if he could have seen you fight- he'd be just as proud of you as I am. But you didn't need me, or Col, or anyone else to make you brave, son. You did that just fine on your own."

"I was raised by one hell of a strong, brave mama."

"That you were."

"But if you were the man who taught Mom to shoot, than that stuff I told you-those things she passed on to me- she learned them from you."

"Yes. I was arguably a better man at 24 than I was at 38."

"Dad. Fer Crisssake. You were a man at 17."

Indy snorted. "I thought I was. I'd killed a man, lain with a woman, and been on a Quest, if you count the war. By the standard of most cultures, I'd qualified. "

"Well, if you count Peru, I guess I've hit the trifecta, myself. Which you do not have to mention to Mom."

"She knows."

"Damn. Why am I not surprised?"

"Not much gets past those pretty eyes of hers."

"Look. I'm older now than you were when someone said 'Hey- you're an officer' and handed you that gun. I may not have seen everything you have. But thanks to you and Mom I've been through a little more than the average Joe Preppy. So try to remember that I'm not a kid anymore, OK?"

"You didn't know about me. I get that. But Mom knew how to find you when Ox needed you. She could have found you before that, if she wanted. She could have told me about you anytime. Maybe she had her reasons. Maybe she didn't. But in a lot of ways that's between her and me, not me and you."

Indy nodded.

"Now" Mutt added sternly, "you were a goddamn...piece of work... to walk out on my mother the way you did. And how she could ever forgive you is beyond me."

"Beyond me too, believe me, though I'm…more grateful than you could know."

"But she did forgive you. And that's really between you and her, not you and me. And besides, from what I can see, you paid."

"Every day."

"But there's one thing you should know. The day she gave me this gun, I asked Mom if she missed my Dad. And you know what she said?

Indy shook his head, stricken.

"She said 'Every day, since he went away. I still love him.' I thought she was talking about my other Dad- that he went topside to fly his last mission and he never came back,-you know, he 'went away.' But now I think she was talking about you and how you left her. Or maybe she was talking about you both -I dunno. Then you know what she did? She smiled. What the hell-she smiled".

Mutt swallowed past the lump in his throat and continued, a little hoarsely. "I'll give you a pass on a few things, man, but both of my fathers owe me for that smile. Nobody should have to be that strong, y'know? Nobody. Then she said nothing you've ever really loved is ever really lost, and that she felt so lucky to have me, because I was like my Dad."

Indy was silent.

Mutt looked at the older man's anguished face and reached out to put a hand on his arm.

"Hey. She forgave you."

One of Indy's hands reached up, to briefly clasp his son's.

"So she did. Your mother's an incredible woman, Junior. I can't think of anything I've done to deserve her."

"Neither can I, but then I don't deserve her either. Just don't tell her I said so."

"Your secret is safe with me."

Indy got up, stretched, and walked over to the cooler they'd parked beside the tent.. He pulled out two amber bottles and tossed them over. "Here, Mutt. If you're old enough to carry MY gun, you're plenty old enough for a beer."

Mutt popped both caps with his knife blade and handed a bottle back to his father.  
"Glad you're seein' in my way."

"The bottle of Glenlivit in my study in my study is still off limits, though."

Mutt cracked a smile. "But, Daaad….." he teased.

Indy smiled back.

"So, pops, if old men are full of stories, there's one I'd like to hear. Seriously-tell me about teaching Mom to shoot. Why did you do it? What was she like?"

"Well, in order, the answers are: 'Because I had to' and 'she was herself'."

Indy leaned back on his folded bedroll, took a swallow of his beer, and sighed reminiscently.

"We were on the first UC Jerusalem dig in 1923, one of Abner's biggest field expeditions. It was going to be my last dig with the Chicago team before I left for Paris to do my at the Sorbonne. Ox was there, too -he was our 'dig master', Abner's right hand man."

"Now on a big dig like that, your crew chief can make or break you. And for reasons best known to himself, Abner had hired a real ugly customer that year. Rough, rough trade, and those bandits he brought in under him were no better. By the end of the first week Ox had patrols organized. All of us fellas who'd been in the military were sleeping in shifts, with guns by our bedrolls in case of trouble. By the second week, any guy who'd ever shot a rabbit was in. Hell, by the third week, Ox had me giving lessons to the guys who couldn't shoot yet."

"Are we talking about the same Harold Oxley? Kindhearted Ox who wouldn't hurt a fly? If the goons made their move, what was Ox gonna do?"

"Wake me up."

Mutt snorted.

"All joking aside, kid, Ox was a fair shot. All that fox hunting and English country living, don't you know?"

"So anyway, there we were, out in the middle of hell-and-gone with those pirates. And there was Marion, pretty as a picture and just, just-trouble looking for a place to happen."

Mutt snickered. "Well, some things never change..."

Indy grinned back. "I'm not arguing. But she would go waltzing through that camp without a care in the world, like the next thing she was gonna do was take the streetcar downtown to shop at goddamn Marshall Fields. Well. There was," Indy paused, "let's call it an unpleasant incident".

Fascinated, Mutt made an inquiring sound.

"Some of the rough boys figured out how much they could make by selling a blue-eyed virgin on the black market. Helluva lot than more they could ever make digging, I can tell you. They took your mother out of camp when Abner was away. Then they stashed her in a 'tavern' and, um, prepared to make a deal."

"So what happened then?"

"Some of the guys and I were able to rectify things before Marion came to any real harm. I'd seen Pancho Villa stage a few raids so we had a general idea of how to go about it. We 'persuaded' one of the diggers to tell us where she was. Then we found the tavern, busted in, scooped Marion up and went hell-for-leather back to camp."

"Just another day at the office?"

"Not exactly. But remember that your mother was only 14- still a kid in a lot of ways. Even though they hadn't manhandled her enough to spoil her looks, she'd still been badly frightened. I rode shotgun back to camp and she spent the whole trip curled up in my lap, with her eyes squeezed shut, shaking like a leaf. "

"Damn."

"It gets worse. She looked up at me once and said 'I want my dad' and started to cry, poor sweet baby that she was. So the fellas and I, we all thought we'd just take Marion back and give her to her daddy, and that would be that. But Abner wasn't there when we got back, and none of us wanted to tell Ox where he likely was."

"So where the hell was he?"

"Well, kid, I know Abe was your grandfather, but he was no saint. And no monk, either, though he had the sense to keep that on the QT. Abner was in Jaffa. He had a group from the Museum, and I think he stayed on for a day or to for a little , um, 'recreation' after he put them on the boat. There was no way to open that can of worms without making more trouble than the shitload we already had, so I kept my mouth shut."

"I can see that."

"So with Abner gone, Ox was in charge in camp. He called Fatima, the cook, to undress Marion and get her to bed. But she wouldn't let go of me, even when they tried to pry her hands off my shirt. I had to promise her I'd stay outside her tent and shoot anyone who tried to come back for her before she would."

"Damn, that's pathetic."

"Yeah, it was. But even after he got back, Abe wouldn't admit that Marion was still in danger. He flat refused send her home. Somebody had to do something. Now, I was leaving for Paris before the dig broke up. If I couldn't be there to protect her, Marion had to be able to protect herself, and she had to know the reason why. So I decided to teach her to shoot. Which meant I also got the job of telling her what the goons were gonna sell her for, and what that 'finishing school' they were talking about sending her to really was."

"Oh my God, what did you tell her?"

"The truth. In a softened form, because she was still quite young, but the truth."

Indy took another long swallow.

"The rub was that Marion had more time in-country after I left. I gave the digger we caught a taste of his own medicine before he told us where she'd been taken, and he may have had friends looking to get revenge. Hence the Webley."

"Shit, man, what did you do?"

"Well nowadays you'd call it psychological warfare . Basically, cracked the whip a lot and swore a lot in Arabic. We didn't rough the guy up-well, not much-but I had to convince him that he was a dead man if he didn't start talking."

Mutt frowned. "Would you have killed him?" he finally asked.

Indy folded his arms and gave his son a challenging stare. "I hope I wouldn't have. But if the bastards didn't want any trouble, all they had to do was leave my baby alone. You see anything wrong with that?"

Mutt's teeth gleamed in the gathering dusk, but it would have been a stretch to call his expression a 'smile'. "Only if you'd see anything wrong with me holding the SOB down for you".

"Good man. A Jones doesn't start trouble,..."

Mutt raised his bottle in a toast "But we can by-God finish it, can't we?"

By the time all the stories were told, a few more beer bottles had been emptied, the fire was guttering, and the moon was sinking over the lake.

Indy doused the fire and reached into his back pocket for a coin.

"Flip you for the tent? I know I'm a lousy sleeper, and I don't want to keep you up."

"You know, I could never sleep at camp when I was a kid. Mom used to put a handkerchief with a little vanilla on it in my sleeping bag. Funniest damn thing-it must have smelled like home to me, but it really helped. We did fine on the way down to Peru. If you're bugging me, I'll kick you or something."

"Works for me."

Indy thought he detected a faint whiff of vanilla in the tent, but he decided it wasn't worth mentioning.

Mutt studiously avoided noticing that a handkerchief, lightly scented with his mother's perfume, fluttered to the ground when Indy unrolled his sleeping bag.

Father and son slept well until sunrise.


	10. The Circle Closes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indy and Marion settle some unfinished business

Bedford, Connecticut

1958

Shadows were lengthening as a mellow Sunday afternoon began to fade into dusk. A rich aroma of beef stew filled the Jones family's kitchen, along with the fragrance of a cherry pie, cooling on the counter, and the scent of brewing coffee.

Two grubby, stubbly, and hungry Jones men dumped their camping gear in the mudroom by the kitchen, sniffed the air, and made noises of appreciation. Their wife and mother, holding towels and two robes, barred their way into the house. "And just where do you boys think you're going?"

"Aaaack", Marion said, waving her hand in front of her nose "You two smell like goats. No, I take it back, I've fed goats that smelled better. Down to your skivs, gentlemen, and leave the dirty clothes right here. You've got time for a shower before we eat."

"You go first, kid," said Indy. "I washed up in the lake this morning."

Mutt looked up from tying his robe and grinned.

"At least one of us is smart enough to avoid the water snakes, Daddy-O"

"Water snakes?"

"Real BIGG water snakes. Just huuge. And circling, definitely circling, just waiting for a chance to strike..."

On that note, he tossed his towel over one shoulder and headed upstairs in search of soap and hot water. The sounds of splashing, and a husky tenor singing 'Little bitty pretty one, come talk to me-eee, little bitty pretty one, come sit on my knee-eee'wafted into the kitchen.

Well, Indy reflected, someday Mutt would encounter the concept of 'pitch'. Preferably sooner rather than later. It wasn't a bad idea, though. He sat on a kitchen stool, cocked an eyebrow at the love of his life, and patted his lap invitingly.

She settled in, and he sighed happily. It was so good to hold her...

"Mutt must have had a good time," said Marion once she was comfortable.

"Mmmmm?" replied the man nuzzling the nape of her neck.

"He's a lot like you-when you're in a good mood, you whistle while you shave. When he's in a good mood, he sings in the shower."

"I'm glad he enjoyed himself."

Someone less sensitive to his moods would have missed the slight edge in Indy's voice.

"Mutt enjoyed himself, but something's troubling you."

"He'll be right down; can we talk about it later?"

She twisted around to look at him.

"Sure. But...promise me we really will?"

He nodded.

Both of the Jones boys ate a hearty supper- Mutt polished off three helpings of stew- and both asked for seconds on pie. Afterwards, Indy went upstairs to shower, grousing good naturedly about kids who used up all the hot water and made their elders wait.

While Mutt and Marion were clearing the dishes, the phone rang. Mutt bounded into the living room to answer it.

Marion kept on drying as snatches of conversation floated in.

"Yeah?..…..went camping with my dad…. hiked in, fished, target shooting,.. ..Oh, we had a time….What? …Sure I can…What time?"

Mutt was wearing his leather jacket when he came back to the kitchen.  
"Hey Mom? That was Cindy. I'm going to go to the movies with her and Greg and some other people. Cindy, um, has a friend she wants me to meet."

"Sounds like fun. I'm sure she'll be nice."

"And, Mom?" Mutt pointed his thumb at the ceiling and jerked his head meaningfully "Hey, you know, the world's biggest badass?"

"Or the man who tries to be? What about him?"

"We talked…about some things up at the lake. And it was good, I mean, but not easy, either. I think he's still a little shook up, but he's trying like hell not to show it."

"Well, men are idiots."

Mutt cleared his throat.

Marion smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss her son's cheek. "Thanks for telling me. Have a good time, Mutt."

The shower was still running when Marion switched off the kitchen light and headed upstairs. On her way, she stopped the dining room for a bottle of brandy and two snifters.

Long ago, a young archaeologist told Marion how good it made him feel that she came to bed fresh and pretty, just for him. And since the same archaeologist was sharing her bed, again, she took a little time to get ready. Indy was inclined to buy her perfume and lingerie-"Just because I can, now" -so she had a variety to choose from.

She slipped on a deep burgundy nightgown with a lacy v-neck and a little L'Heure Bleu perfume. The she went to find her man.

Her man was sitting up in bed, hair spiky and damp, wearing his pajama bottoms and a worn white T shirt. Indy was looking at a book, but his fresh shave and the warm expression in his eyes suggested that reading was not his first choice for the evening's activities.

"You're up here early."

"So are you."

"Mutt's at the movies with some friends, I thought we could have some quiet time together. There's brandy if you'd like."

"Yes, I'd like some." He patted the spot beside him. "But only if you come sit here."

She poured him a snifter, and sat next to him on the bed.

He smiled at her, a soft, lopsided, loving smile, and swirled his brandy to release its' heady fumes.

"It fascinates me" Indy said as he sipped his drink, "that someone as basically self-sufficient as you are can be such a, a, geisha when it suits her. I remember you used to sneak me wine from Abner's mess tent because I said -just once -that I liked a nightcap."

"Do you mind?"

"It's a rare man who doesn't enjoy getting a little tender loving care from his woman."

She smiled back at him. "Guess I must have a soft spot for you, Jones."

He ran a finger over the lace edging at her décolletage. "Do you, now? Mmmm… maybe several. "

Then he leaned in to kiss her neck.

"Miss me, baby?"

"Oh, maybe. Just a little."

She rested a hand on his back.

"You're pretty tight here. Want a back rub?"

"No sane man would turn down one of your back rubs, doll."

"Maybe a sane man wouldn't, but I'm talking to you, mister. Yes or no?"

For answer, Indy put down his glass, stripped off his T shirt, and planted himself face down on the sheets.

She kissed the top of his head. "Looks like yes to me."

Marion warmed some lotion in her hands and started kneading his shoulders. They let their actions speak at these times, just as they let their bodies speak when they made love.

Tender loving care-it's a different kind of intimacy than sex, she thought, but Indy craves it nearly as much. Takes a lot for him to admit that, though. God knows I'm far from the only woman he's slept with-but I may be the only one he's trusted this way.

By her second pass over his back, Indy's drum-tight muscles had begun to unwind. After the third, he rolled over, smiling.

"Thanks, babe. So much better."

Then he pulled her down on top of him and kissed her deeply, drinking her in.

"Mrs. Jones?"

"Yes, Dr. Jones?"

"I have some muscles on this side that need your attention…"

She reached over him and turned down the bedside lamp.

"Do you now, Indy…"

Usually, after a loving interlude, , Marion's husband liked to wrap himself around her and go to sleep. Tonight he lay next to her wide awake, flat on his back with one hand over his eyes.

That man needs to get something off his chest, and badly. Whatever it is hit some sore places, I think. Indy needed to feel very, very connected to me before he could open up, and even now he can barely manage…

She rolled on her side toward him, and reached out to touch his cheek. "Something on your mind?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yes."

"I suppose it would be. Well, Mutt showed me his gun and told me a story. Several stories, in fact."

Indy took a deep breath, and turned to face his wife. "So tell me, Bright Eyes, why did you give him the Webley? Was it justice or mercy?"

"Why did you leave it with me?" she countered. "Was it love or fear?"

He hated to speak of the time when he'd left her. "Damned if I know- a little of both I guess. Look, do we have to-"

To his immense relief, Indy was kissed tenderly and drawn close by someone who loved him. "No, we don't. But it was a little of both for me, too."

"Certainly," Marion continued after a moment, "it was justice for Mutt. I may not have been ready to tell him the whole story, but I owed it to him to see that he had something from you. The gun was what I could do at the time."

Marion paused, and considered her next words carefully.

"Indy, I'm not saying this to hurt you, but it's hard work for a woman to raise a boy by herself. You have to teach him to be tough but not cruel, and brave but not a cocky show-off. And it's not like I learned much from Abner. So the examples I had to work with were you, Ox, and Colin. I thought that Mutt could do far worse than to take after the strong, brave young man who taught me to shoot."

Then Marion cupped her Indy's face between her hands and looked into his eyes.

"For that matter, she said softly "he could do far worse than to take after the strong, brave grown man who rescued Ox, and me, and brought us all safe home."

"So the mercy was for me?"

"If you want to call it that. You are a born teacher, and you taught me well. But when you said a little bit of you would always be with me, I don't think you quite meant Mutt."

"No."

Gentle fingers began to stroke Indy's hair.

"You know, Indy, Ox used to hear about you from time to time- archeology is a small world. Sometimes he'd mention something. When he and Mutt read your book, I even snuck a look at the back cover."

"Really?" he asked, pleased in spite of himself.

"Mmm...hmmm. I waited till they were out of the house, though- I didn't want Mutt to see me get upset. I didn't know if I was going to throw it in the fireplace or cry when I saw your face."

Dear God. "What did you do?"

"It wasn't my book so I pulled it out before it got burned. But then I looked at your picture and…" she couldn't finish.

Indy wrapped his arms around her tight and crushed her against his chest. "Oh, sweetheart..."

"You always were a fine-looking man, Henry Jones," said Marion said after a moment, "and your picture was very handsome-but oh, your eyes were so lonely, Indy..."

"That's because I was very lonely. When that picture was taken, Dad was gone, Marcus was dying...I didn't think it showed, though."

"Maybe just to someone who cared. Anyway, I was half expecting to read a blurb like 'Professor Jones resides in Bedford, Connecticut with his wife and three children'. But there was never anything that said you had a real home to come back to, or a family, or a life with someone who loved you."

"Not until now."

"But don't you see? Somehow, on your way out of my door, you managed to give me those things. No matter what, I always had my boy. Mutt was the little part of you that I could love forever. I could take care of him, the way nobody took care of you. Yeah, I had to take on a lot-but that's what happens when you grow up, Jones."

"He's a good kid. I told him a couple of stories about Colin, myself. I want him to know that he's someone who would make both his fathers proud. I was in my 30s before Dad told me he was proud of me-Mutt shouldn't have to wait that long."

"There are days when I wonder why I married you, Indy. This is not one of 'em."

"I thought you married me because I'm so good looking and such a great kisser?"

She smiled at him lovingly and ruffled his grey hair.

"Partly. It's really because of the man I fell in love with all those years ago. The man you were-who protected me, and then gave me one of his prize possessions so that I could protect myself."

She sighed. "You came back to me in '36, Indy. But in a lot of ways, he didn't."

"He wanted to." Indy answered softly. "Desperately. But I think he lost his way."

"Perhaps he did. But nothing you've really loved is ever really lost. And out in the jungle, when you asked me to marry you, he looked at me again out of your eyes."

"But you didn't say 'yes' then.."

"No I didn't, but that's when I knew I was going to. That was the man I've loved all my life and I'm here because he is. Because you are."

"I love you, Marion. And I do love my son. In spite of what a pain in the ass he can be."

"Indy, honey, Mutt's a 19 year old male- a 19 year old Jones male, come to that. Being a pain is his job. Besides, in spite of what a pain in the ass you are, we love you, too."

"I thought you loved me because of what a pain in the ass I am."

"Go to sleep, Indy."

"I love you so," he said softly "我爱你, Je t'aime, te amo, ti amo, Σ' αγαπώ, Ich liebe dich, Я тебя люблю"…

Marion's young lover knew many languages, and sometimes he would lull them both to sleep by telling her he loved her in each of them; "Because saying it just one way isn't good enough for you, honey". It melted her heart to hear those words again, as she lay safe and cherished in her husband's arms. Before Indy got to Arabic, he was fast asleep and snoring gently.

Marion settled him against her and pulled the covers over them both. The faint light from the window gleamed on the big pistol her husband laid on the nightstand.

"Oh you, you…Jones" she whispered tenderly.

The End


End file.
